


Falling into Darkness

by Lucefray27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark!Hermione, Death Eaters, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gore, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Multi, Murder, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence, dramione - Freeform, pureblood!Hermione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 246,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucefray27/pseuds/Lucefray27
Summary: Hermione Granger is given the task of liaison for a surprising Order of the Phoenix spy, and she must learn to trust this Death Eater, putting their past behind them. When she is captured by Voldemort everything changes, and soon she is living in the gray area between good and bad as she fights to return to the Order. She begins to wonder, when you've gone to the darkest areas of your soul, is there any coming back from that? Does she even want to come back from that?





	1. [Part One] - Obvious Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is going to have many, many trigger warnings. There aren’t really any in the beginning chapters, but there will be lots in the upcoming ones. You have been warned. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K. 
> 
> >>Super shoutout to my wonderful Beta!: Dreamingofstars85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: This story is going to have many, many trigger warnings. The beginning is mild, with none, or very few, but as we progress through the story, they will be numerous. At this point, I am not sure exactly where this story is going, and can’t say exactly what will happen. So trigger warnings may include, but are not limited to: torture, death, murder, dub-con, depression, captivity, self-harm, and substance abuse. I prefer not to put warnings ahead of each chapter, and rather have a blanket warning in the beginning. Thank you for being here - I hope you enjoy the ride!**
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>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K. 
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85

 

**PART ONE**

**-The Road Ahead-**

* * *

 

**  
  
CHAPTER ONE**

  **Obvious Insanity**

 

 ******July 3, 1997**

Hermione was numb. She could feel the hard folding chair beneath her. She could feel the sun beating on her skin. She could feel the warm breeze of early July across her face, and she could feel Harry’s hand holding hers, but everything else, everything inside was numb. Dumbledore was dead, and she just couldn’t process that. Quite possibly the only man who Voldemort feared, the man she had trusted and looked up to, the man who kept Hogwarts safe, was gone.

As the service ended, she glanced over at Harry and gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. She felt another wave of grief seeing the tears on his face. Realizing that her own eyes were far from dry, she used her other arm to wipe away the wetness, before sniffling, and standing up.

Sighing, she looked back at her best friend. “I’ll be back in a bit Harry, I need some air,” She turned from him and walked towards the back of the field where the funeral was being held, glad they had chosen seats on the outside of the row so she didn’t have to cross in front of anyone, thus avoiding unwanted conversations.

Hermione continued walking until she could only hear a dull hum of the voices from the crowd. She glanced out over the Black Lake and took a deep breath. Exhaling felt like melting. Like her body was sinking, and she didn’t have the energy or the will to do anything but let it. Finding herself on her knees, she decided to just sit back, cross her legs, and take a moment. This was the first time that Hermione had been away from Harry or Ron since finding out Dumbledore was gone, and she desperately needed to decompress. She tried to stay strong for her friends, but inside, Hermione was falling to pieces.

The anxiety she felt was crippling. Between the fear and the immense grief she was drowning in, Hermione couldn’t formulate a plan that had any possibility of working. It was like her brain went on vacation, and all she could do was wait for it to come back.

Squaring her shoulders and standing up, Hermione found that she was giving herself a mental kick to the arse. _Get up, Hermione. Get up. You cannot sit here, wallowing in grief. Get up, make a plan, and end this._ With that steel resolve in mind, Hermione stood from her spot near the lake, and turned to rejoin Harry and Ron, as the school said goodbye to their beloved Headmaster.

xXxXxXx

Upon returning to her seat, Harry gave Hermione one of those looks, questioning her absence without actually using any words, like only best friends were able.

“I’m okay, I just needed a moment,” she whispered in response.

Harry nodded, understanding the need, and reached to her chair, picking up a piece of folded and sealed parchment, and handing it to her.

“Someone dropped this off for you. I’m actually not sure who it was, I wasn’t paying much attention…” He trailed off, looking towards the coffin in front of them.

Curiously, Hermione turned the parchment in her hands, recognizing Professor McGonagall’s seal on the back. Slowly taking her seat beside Harry, she ran her finger underneath the seal, breaking it and then opening the parchment.

_Miss Granger,_

_As you are aware, I am now acting Headmistress of Hogwarts, and as such, need to delegate some of my duties, especially those pertaining to Gryffindor House. I request your presence to discuss these matters this evening. Please join me after dinner - save room for a Lemondrop._

_Minerva McGonagall,_

Glancing over the parchment Hermione sighed. It was literally one of the last things she wanted to deal with. No way could she handle any more responsibilities right now.

“What did it say ‘Mione?” Ron was leaning forward looking between the parchment and Hermione’s now fraught face.

“Professor McGonagall wants to meet with me. Something about her needing to delegate some of her duties concerning Gryffindor House, since she is now Acting Headmistress.” She explained, passing the parchment to Ron. “After dinner tonight,” she added for Harry’s benefit, though she couldn’t tell if he was even listening. Her best friend had been a shell the last few days. Wandering around without actually knowing what was going on. She had to figure out a way to pull him out of this; they had to move on.

They had to continue with Dumbledore’s mission.

They had to continue.

They had to.

xXxXxXx

Hermione stared across the table at Harry. He hadn’t even touched his plate yet, even though she had fixed it up for him over ten minutes ago.

“Harry, you have to eat. You can’t continue on like this.” She murmured, reaching her hand across the table and placing it on his.

Harry looked up at her, and she softly smiled at him. Her best friend. The one person who always understood her. He was hurting so much that it physically pained Hermione. She could almost _see_ the pieces of his broken heart, but she didn’t know what to do to help him heal it, if it even could be healed. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, earning her the briefest, smallest smile.

She brought her hand back, picking up her own fork, and pushing her food around her plate. They sat in silence, too numb for conversation. The whole room was eerily quiet, as the staff and students had no heart for discussions tonight. The sounds of silverware and an occasional hushed, hurried conversation were all that could be heard.

Hermione stood from the table, whispering to Ron that she would meet them in the common room when she had finished her meeting with Professor McGonagall, and requested he try and get Harry to at least take a few bites. She headed out of the Great Hall, and began the walk towards the Headmaster’s - no, _Headmistress’_ Office. She was still going over reasons she couldn’t take on any more responsibilities when she reached the stone gargoyle.

Hoping that had been a clue in the Headmistress's letter, Hermione tentatively called out, “Lemondrop”, and was relieved when the gargoyle moved aside to reveal the staircase. She reluctantly began climbing towards the office.

When she reached the end of the stairs, Hermione gave a light knock on the wall. She saw Professor McGonagall standing behind the desk, looking out the window down to the grounds, which were aglow with light from the waxing moon. The Professor turned around at the sound, and Hermione got a good look at her for the first time in several days. Her face was somber, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was clearly under a lot of stress, and was trying not to show its burden on her.

“Miss Granger, I thank you for taking the time to meet with me tonight. I know it has been a very long few days for you, but unfortunately the matter which we must discuss is quite urgent. Please sit.”

Confused, Hermione headed towards the chair across from the Professors at the desk, and sat down.

“Urgent? Professor, I am sure the other Gryffindor students won’t mind a delay in certain tasks as you adjust to this new position.”

“I am sorry Miss Granger, but my letter was not entirely truthful. I do have some… _duties_ … to pass on to you, but they have nothing to do with your house. They are of the utmost secrecy, which is why I could not explain them in a letter.”

“Professor, I don’t understand-“

Ignoring her, Professor McGonagall continued, “I am aware that you will be turning 18 shortly, Miss Granger.”

Puzzled, Hermione confirmed “Yes, that’s correct…”

“You are, in fact, two months shy of that. Though the Ministry deems you legal at 17, because most witches and wizards are still in school another year after that, the Order doesn't start recruiting until the age of 18.” Professor McGonagall had turned back to the window, and was again looking at the grounds below, as she continued. “However, considering the urgency of the situation, I have decided to overlook that technicality, and officially offer you an invitation to join The Order of the Phoenix.  The Order has never had a member who is still in school before.”

Hermione sat, stunned into silence, which honestly she could only remember happening once or twice before. One of those times was when she was 12 and facing a giant troll. It was that rare. Finally, she spoke,

“Professor, I’m not sure I understand… Why are you- Why am I- What is going on here?” She was stumbling over her words and beyond confused.

“Miss Granger, I find myself in a situation that requires delicacy, and secrecy. Albus’ death makes me not only the head of the Order of the Phoenix, but its public face, if you will. That means, undoubtedly, that I will become an even bigger target for you-know-who, and his followers. I have certain…information, that I am keeping, that I must pass on, so that in the event of my death, it is not lost. Does that make sense?” She turned back towards the witch as she posed the question.

“Yes, but why _me_ professor?” Hermione was trying to wrap her head around this situation, but it was proving difficult.

“You are the brightest witch of your age Miss Granger,” she stated, as if it were obvious. “Before I tell you any more, however, I will need to know if you accept this invitation into the Order, and this task. As I said, it is a secret which cannot be lost, and I must have your full commitment before divulging it.” Her voice was stern, but unsure. Like she didn’t know how Hermione would respond.

“Of course Professor, of course. I will help in whatever way I can, obviously.”

“Good. Very good. Alright, Miss Granger, I will inform the other members of the Order of your decision, although no one else will know the details of your specific mission, only that you are an official member of the Order, and have been given a task from myself, which is quite important. You are to discuss this with no one. Do you understand? Not even Misters Potter and Weasley, which I know is asking a lot of you, and I am sorry for that.”

“It’s alright, Professor, I understand,” Hermione’s reply was quiet. She did not, in fact, understand at all. She was utterly confused, and baffled as to what exactly the Professor was getting at, and why she was even being asked to join the Order. What about Harry and Ron? Well, at least Harry… He was surely an asset to the Order… But her curiosity was beyond piqued, and she found that the need to know what was happening was overpowering all her other queries.  

The Acting Headmistress looked downright nervous. Like she wasn’t sure how to say the information she had, or, more so, not sure how to say it to _Hermione_. This was not a look that she could ever recall seeing on this particular witch, and it made Hermione nervous, too. She began fidgeting her hands, which had been resting in her lap.

“I understand this information is going to be hard to digest, but I implore you to listen, and accept it, Miss Granger. I will answer _all_ of your questions, but please let me finish before you speak.” Her voice was stern, but also understanding. It made Hermione’s skin crawl, wondering what exactly she was about to hear.

“The Order has another spy, Miss Granger, and it is a student. Professor Dumbledore was approached by this student, several years ago, and trusted him explicitly. In the time this student has been helping the Order, we have completed several missions that may not have been possible, or successful, without his insider information. He is an invaluable asset to the cause, and thus, his safety is our number one concern. He _cannot_ be found out. Professor Dumbledore informed me of his existence shortly after finding out himself, but didn’t tell me of his identity until just recently. I believe he divulged that information because he knew someone else in the Order had to know, in case the worst happened.”

The professor wrung her hands, and still looked nervous. She had spoken quite quickly, and Hermione was trying to digest this new information. The Order still has a spy, and it's a _student!_ Her mind was whirling, wondering who it could be. How were they getting their information? It had to be someone whose family had ties to You-Know-Who, right? How else would they know anything. She was still mentally listing off possible students when McGonagall interrupted her thoughts.

“This is where you come in, Miss Granger. I need a liaison, if you will, between the student and the Order. For obvious reasons, he cannot be seen communicating with me regularly, even by Order members. No one can learn of his identity, or we risk losing our spy, and his life.” McGonagall’s voice was grave, and serious. She had given no hint as to who this student was yet, but Hermione was already fully invested in keeping his secret. He was obviously brave, and loyal to the Order, whoever he was, otherwise he wouldn’t be risking his life to get them such valuable information.

“I understand the secrecy, Professor. I am still not sure why you chose _me_ to be this, liaison, though…” She trailed off, noticing the changing expression on the older witch's face. She had suddenly looked nervous again, and that made Hermione quite uneasy.

“There is no delicate way to say this, Miss Granger, so I will remind you one more time, that you have already agreed to this, and the importance of your task is exceptional.” The professor gave Hermione one last, stern look, before sitting in the chair at her desk, lacing her fingers in front of her and placing them on her desk.

“The spy is Draco Malfoy, Miss Granger.”

xXxXxXx

An hour later Hermione was walking up the staircase and towards the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower. As she approached the Fat Lady, she stopped, nervously smoothing her jumper, and took a deep breath. Then another. After Professor McGonagall had given Hermione her… her _mission_ , if you will, they had made a quick game plan as to what to tell those who would undoubtedly ask questions, namely Harry, Ron, and the Order members.

Stepping through the portrait hole, Hermione headed towards the two bodies she saw sitting on the couch, knowing Harry and Ron would be waiting for an explanation. At her approach, they turned to greet her, and of course hound her for details.

“So? What was that all about ‘Mione?” Ron was the one who spoke, but Harry looked equally interested. She was glad to see he appeared to be in slightly better spirits now, the red rims around his eyes finally gone.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story, actually,” Sighing, Hermione thought it best to just rip the bandage off. No matter how she said it, the boys would be jealous. “She asked me to join the Order of the Phoenix.”

“What? ‘Mione WHAT??! You aren’t even 18! That isn’t fair! Why would they want you to join, you’re still in school?! You-“ Ron’s outburst was as she had expected, and she cut him off before he said something he would regret.

“I am aware of all of that, Ronald. She said they were making an exception because I was _nearly_ 18, and at least one of us should be an official Order member, when we continue on Dumbledore’s mission.” At their shocked expressions, she added “Yes, apparently Dumbledore gave her at least a little information on what he had been working on. She also said that as soon as you two are of age to join, they have positions waiting.” She finished, hoping that they wouldn’t ask too many questions. She really hated lying to them. Even though she wasn’t _technically_ lying, just withholding information, it still felt wrong. Especially since the information she was withholding was so colossal.

“Alright… you’re an Order member, so… what, so we can complete Dumbledore’s  task with Order approval? Does that mean they will help us?” Harry was surprisingly sensible, actually asking her a question that wasn’t pertaining to his lack of an invitation, unlike their third counterpart.

“Yes, she said that when the time came, it would afford us the opportunity to use Order safe houses, and maybe even their Portkeys, if we need them.” The Professor actually _had_ said this, and Hermione thought that the offer really could come in helpful, later on.

“Alright, then I suppose we just have to start to really plan our next move, yeah?” Harry looked determined, and Hermione smiled, finally seeing her best friend coming back to life.

“Yes, Harry. That is exactly our next move.” She took the seat in between her two best friends, pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, and began to plan with them.

xXxXxXx

Hours later, as Hermione sat on her bed, she finally had a chance to think over the events of the day. It really had been the longest of days. Professor Dumbledore’s funeral seems like it had been ages ago, not merely hours. The meeting with Professor McGonagall had been entirely unexpected, and quite possibly life changing. It overshadowed most of the other events of the day. For Merlin’s sake! She was an official member of the Order of the Phoenix now! Then there was the extensive planning her, Harry, and Ron had begun for their inevitable departure. Overall, Hermione felt absolutely drained. She had nothing left to give.

Compartmentalizing the three main events of the day, she thought of just the meeting with Professor McGonagall, going over the details and trying to figure out how exactly she felt about this. She knew her initial reaction, her complete and utter horror at finding out she would be a liaison for _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people, was going to be hard to get over. For Godric’s sake, she had to meet with him the following day. How she was going to do that without physically harming him, she had no idea.

Professor McGonagall had told Hermione of several instances that Draco’s information had supposedly saved Order member's lives, and helped missions succeed, but it was still hard to wrap her mind around the fact that it was Draco Malfoy. The boy who was mean as they come, and always seemed to have it out for Harry, Ron, and even herself. Obviously, Harry and Ron weren’t completely innocent either, they were just as often the instigators, but Malfoy was _really_ awful. Somehow she had to reconcile her absolute dislike for him with the fact that he was really a _good_ guy? No, no he couldn’t be good. Not really. You can’t be _good_ if you treat everyone like crap. Just because he does _some_ good, doesn’t make him good.

“And how does she even know for sure he _is_ on our side?” She scoffed, to herself, since the room was otherwise empty. Maybe he is a spy for You-Know-Who, _pretending_ to help the Order, when really he was passing information the other way!? If she did choose to believe that he was truly working with the Order, then she had to wonder what was in it for him. Malfoy didn’t do things out of the kindness his heart. He didn’t have a kind bone in his body, as far as she knew, so why would he be helping the Order? Fighting for the _other_ side. His father were clearly a loyal Death Eater, why would Malfoy go against what he had been raised to do?

Hermione sighed loudly, and threw herself back on her bed, so that she was lying down facing the ceiling. She straightened her legs and flung her arms over her eyes, trying to block out the night, hoping to stop the thoughts that were overwhelming her, and just _sleep._ Godric she wanted to sleep. It had been a few nights since she had more than 6 hours, and even longer since she’d managed 8. Sleep seemed to have a way of evading you when you were constantly fighting the darkest wizard of all time. She rolled her eyes, under her closed lids, and sighed, straightening her thought line back to the meeting with Professor McGonagall.

Besides the obvious insanity of trying to accept Malfoy as an Order spy, there was the other headache that the Professor had thrown at her. Not only was she supposed to be some sort of go-between for him and the Order, but she also had to let him teach her Occlumency?! How was he even good enough at Occlumency or Legilimency to _teach_ it? This was _Draco_ Malfoy; he was a student, same as her, but he spent all his time tormenting other students. Hermione couldn’t wrap her mind around believing that he was that good at Occlumency. _Maybe Professor McGonagall had just meant that we have to practice it together._ Yes, that had to be it. No way was he that good at it. No way.

Hermione did at least understand the need for that specific skill set, for the both of them. If anyone on You-Know-Who’s side invaded their minds, and found out Malfoy’s secret, he would be killed. That’s why Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had told no one of Malfoy’s supposed allegiance to the Order. It really was safer for him, _if he really was what he said he was_ , if no one knew. The fewer people who knew about it, the fewer people who could accidentally slip that information.  So yes, it made perfect sense that she would need to become very, _very_ good at occluding her mind.

 _At least there is a bit of a silver lining here,_ she thought. If she had to be in the same room as Malfoy, at least she would be _learning_ something. And it was a skill she really did want to be good at. It would probably benefit her tremendously, especially in war times. It was invaluable. All she had to do was ignore the fact that she had to learn with Malfoy. That would be… difficult, but not impossible.

The worst thing about the whole situation was that she couldn’t even talk to Harry or Ron about any of it. She had to deal with Malfoy all on her own, and she couldn’t complain to anyone about it! Not that she condoned excessive complaining, especially when a situation couldn’t be changed, but seriously! This was most certainly something to complain about, and she hadn’t even had to meet with him yet. How she was going to keep this from her best friends, she had not the faintest idea. Professor McGonagall really had put her in an awful position. Obviously she would do anything she could to help the Order, and she was actually ecstatic that she had been asked to join, especially before she was even of joining age. But really, it was a lot to ask of her.

Hermione finally felt her eyelids begin to droop, and suddenly the events of the day seemed to hit her. She was terribly tired, and in a moment of carefree disregard for the rules, she crawled under her covers still fully clothed. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and prepared for sleep to take her.

Not even a minute later she shot out of bed, rolling her eyes at herself, and heading into the bathroom to change into pajamas and brush her teeth; how she let herself think she would be able to sleep in her clothes, she had no idea.  

xXxXxXx


	2. Unfortunate Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers in this chapter, but trust me when I say they are coming! Hope you enjoy, darlings! As always, everything Harry Potter belongs to our Queen, J.K.! Sending love!
> 
> Shoutout and love to my Beta, Dreamingofstars85

 

**Unfortunate Encounters**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Classes had not yet resumed, as they had the entire week off following Professor Dumbledore’s death, so Hermione spent most of the following day studying in the library.  Since there would only be one week of classes before summer break after this, there were only a handful of other students who had the same idea as her, so the library was quiet and peaceful, with no distracting chatter.  She was, naturally, already ahead in her studies and homework, so Hermione took this time to look at books on Occlumency and Legilimency. She wanted to be as prepared as possible when her and Malfoy had to work together. Especially if Professor McGonagall was correct, and he already excelled in the subject. She could hardly go into this underprepared. 

She had several volumes piled in front of her, and was nose deep in  _ Occluding the Mind, Keeping your Senses, _ which is why she nearly jumped out of her seat when Madame Pince approached her, a note held in her hand. 

“Oh, Madame Pince, I’m so sorry, I must have lost track of…” 

“Everything?” The older witch offered, watching Hermione struggle to tidy the large table strewn with her books and notes.

“Well, yes actually. This is quite an interesting read, and it's so quiet in here today,” Hermione took a confused glance around, wondering what had warranted her a visit from the librarian. 

“No need to apologize for reading in a library, Miss Granger.” She snapped, “I only interrupted to let you know an owl arrived for you,” At this, Madame Pince produced a piece of parchment and handed it over to Hermione, walking away without waiting for a reply. 

“Thank you!” Hermione called after the witch, in a whisper shout. 

Puzzled, she tore open the sealed parchment, and recognized Professor McGonagall’s writing immediately. Sighing, she read the short letter.

_ Miss Granger,  _

__ _ As discussed, a meeting has been arranged. 7pm. The room will already be occupied, so just remember, your needs, three times.  _

_ Headmistress McGonagall _

And there it was. The first meeting with Malfoy was not being put off at all by the Headmistress. Hermione had known it would come sooner rather than later, but she hadn’t expected the very next day. Although, with only two weeks left until everyone returned home for break, she supposed there really wasn’t an opportunity for delay. 

The note was cryptic enough that if just anyone read it, they would likely not understand it in the least. It was easy enough to explain away if someone read it and asked questions, and it was also direct enough that someone who was privy to its true purpose would find perfect meaning in its words. Obviously, the meeting was at seven o’clock that night.  _ Headmistress _ McGonagall had informed Hermione that the meetings would take place in the Room of Requirement, since it was really the safest place in Hogwarts for those who couldn’t afford to be caught. And the last bit told her that Malfoy would be instructed to arrive first, and tell the room their needs, so the only thing Hermione would have to do was walk past the 7 th floor corridor three times, asking for the room that Malfoy had requested for them. 

Getting into the room would likely be the easiest feat of the night. Making it through a meeting with Malfoy on the other hand, that would require much more. Hermione cringed thinking about having to actually have a discussion with the…the  _ ferret _ , as Harry and Ron called him. 

It was after she had read the same sentence three times, with absolutely no understanding of its contents, that Hermione decided to give up studying for the day. It was pointless when her stomach was in such knots, and her mind was racing a million miles a minute with non-stop thoughts of how badly this was sure to turn out. She closed and stacked her books, piling all her notes together and shoving them inside her book bag. As she walked back to Gryffindor Tower, her mind was so clouded that it took Harry four calls before she heard him saying her name.

“EARTH TO HERMIONE!” Harry nearly shouted at her.

She whipped her head around and saw Harry and Ron jogging to catch up with her. They were in their Quidditch clothes, obviously just coming in from the pitch. 

“Oh, hello you two. Sorry, I must have been off in my own world.” She was glad for their distraction, as her nerves were on fire anticipating the upcoming meeting. 

“Maybe you need to lay off the books ‘Mione, they obviously aren’t doing you any good,” Ron chuckled, as the three friends walked up the stairs. 

“That doesn’t even make sense, Ronald. I am tired. I did a lot of studying, and I was still thinking about the last thing I read when you two  _ interrupted _ my thoughts,” she snapped. “You really can never read too many books, you know,” Hermione added, as a quick afterthought. Her reply was a little cross, and she knew that. But honestly, sometimes Ron just got on her nerves. 

“Aw, Hermione, you know he didn’t mean that how it came out.” Harry said, clearly trying to make peace between his two friends before anything got out of hand. You never knew with those two, sometimes a remark like that would roll off the shoulders, and other times it would be the start of a three day silent treatment. Getting ahead of the game was always the best plan. 

Hermione sighed, “I know, I’m sorry. As I said, I’m just terribly tired. I didn’t mean to snap, forgive me?” She looked over to Ron, who had a cheesy grin on his freckled face. 

“You know I already have, ‘Mione.” Ron placed his hand on Hermione’s arm in a comforting gesture, and gave her a wink. 

They continued their walk in companionable silence, until they were within the walls of the common room. Turning to face her boys, Hermione smiled and assured them she would be down in time to head to dinner together. She was just heading her room to freshen up after spending the day in the library. They nodded and crossed over to play a game of wizard’s chess, already resuming their talk about Quidditch. 

xXxXxXx

Dinner was again a quiet event, although not quite so much as the day before. Chatter was kept to a low hum, but Hogwarts was resuming its regular vibrations of life.  Hermione ate in relative silence, letting Ron and Harry discuss their Quidditch practice while she let her thoughts wander. 

She was pulled out of her reverie when Harry gently cupped her elbow. She looked over at him and was a little startled by his concerned expression. 

“Hermione, are you okay?” 

“Of course I am Harry.” She replied to him, trying her best not to look him in the eye as she lied through her teeth. 

“You’ve been extra quiet today, are you sure nothing is bothering you?” He prodded.

“Yes, Harry, everything is really fine. I just did a lot of studying today and I’m a little out of it.” Noticing that neither boy was even close to having cleared their plate, Hermione decided this was the perfect time to ‘head to bed’, so that she wouldn’t have to explain leaving the tower later in the evening. It was already half past six anyways, so she could easily head to her dormitory, gather her things, and leave again before anyone was back from dinner. 

“You know, I think I might just head up to the dormitory now. I really am feeling quite tired. It has been a long few days, and I could really just use the rest” Hermione stated, looking at Harry and Ron. 

“Want us to head up with you?” Ron suggested. It actually looked like it was physically painful for him to offer abandoning his dinner for her. 

“No, no of course not. I’ll just be heading to bed, probably with a book, anyways. There is no reason for you two to end your nights early,” she said, standing from the long table. “I will see you in the morning. We have some…” she looked around, noting her audience, and cleared her throat, “Plans, to finalize.” She finished.

Saying goodnight quickly, she turned and headed out of the great hall, doing her best not to look towards the Slytherin table, knowing full well that Malfoy was still sitting there with his friends. She picked up her pace as she got to the staircase, hoping to buy a few extra minutes so that she could clear her mind before her evening was undoubtedly ruined by Malfoy. 

xXxXxXx

Climbing through the portrait hole, Hermione quickly scanned the corridor, making sure no one else was coming or going. When she saw no one, she took a deep breath and headed towards the Room of Requirement. Glancing at her watch and noting it was precisely 7:01pm, Hermione began to pace in front of the wall that would, hopefully, reveal the door to the Room of Requirement. Headmistress McGonagall had said that Malfoy would be the first to arrive, so she was asking for a room that she could meet Draco Malfoy in, and that was really it. He would have asked for everything they would need. Or at least he should have. 

_ I’m looking for Draco Malfoy. I need a room to meet Draco Malfoy in.  _ She was repeating those ridiculous words in her mind, as she paced in front of the wall, wondering what she ever did to deserve this awful sentence.  

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

And as she turned back to pace a fourth time, she made a small gasp, and realized the door was there. Even after using the room so many times over the years, it still amazed her. Magic really was wonderful. 

Putting her hand on the door knob, Hermione took one last calming breath before twisting the handle and pushing the door open. 

She was more than a little shocked at what she saw inside, although once her mind caught up to her, the sight really shouldn’t have surprised her. The room had been transformed to look like, what she assumed was, the Slytherin Common room. Hermione herself hadn’t seen it before, but from Harry and Ron’s description, she was sure that was what this must be replicating. 

The walls and ceiling were dark stone, and the lighting was very dim, and somehow tinged almost greenish. It was rather cold, and though the fireplace had been lit, no heat seemed to be coming from it. There was a long couch placed in front of the fireplace. There were also other chairs, and a few small tables scattered around the room, but Hermione hardly noticed them, as her eyes were drawn to the shock of blond hair sitting on the couch. Steadying herself for the night ahead, she shut the door and took a few steps towards the fireplace. 

“You’re late, Granger. Smartest witch of your age and you can’t even bloody get to a set engagement on time. How very Weasley of you.” Malfoy didn’t even turn towards her as his voice sneered at her approach. 

Ignoring the jab at her friends, she squared her shoulders and replied. “It’s one minute past, Malfoy. I didn’t want to arrive early, in case you hadn’t had a chance to, arrange for the room yet.” Her answer was just as curt as his had been, but she knew there was no way her words had affected him negatively at all. 

“Late is late, Granger,’ he drawled, finally turning to look at her. His features briefly flickered into surprise before he was again emotionless. “You could have at least tried to make this more pleasant for me. Did you get that ensemble from the rubbish bin, or did you just borrow it from Lady Weasley?” 

“If it was up to me I wouldn’t be here at all!” she snapped. “I’m not changing how I dress to appease you in any way, Malfoy. Can we please just hurry this up so I can leave?” Hermione walked around to sit on the other end of the couch, as far away from the snake as possible. 

“Ahh, yes, McGonagall had-“ 

“ _ Professor McGonagall,” _ she corrected. 

“Granger, you are not here to be the teacher, as far as I know. Actually, I have been told that you utterly lack any skill in Occlumency, and  _ that _ is why we are being forced to have these little… rendezvous.” His sneer was now coated in venom and disgust, and Hermione was finding it very hard to not just hex him from where she sat. 

“ _ Actually _ , I have spent some time studying and practicing on my own. I’m sure I am not as awful as you are implying, Malfoy, and I really doubt you are as  _ accomplished _ as you think you are.” She scoffed, a bit offended.

Malfoy stood from the couch and walked towards the fireplace. His body was facing her, with one arm resting on the stone of the mantle above his head, but his face was turned towards the heatless flames. 

“Granger, do you have any idea why we are here?” His voice was eerily quiet and calm. 

“ _ Obviously _ . Professor McGonagall told me -“ she was interrupted before she could finish, as Malfoy raised his free arm, effectively cutting her off.  

Resting his head in his palm, Malfoy paused for a brief moment, before he looked up at her, making eye contact. Hermione actually felt an icy fear shoot down her chest with that look. Malfoy was downright scary, and being alone in a room with him when none of her friends even knew she was there suddenly seemed a little less than brilliant. 

“Granger, you do realize that I am a spy, right? A spy, for the Order of the Phoenix. Spying on the  _ Dark Lord _ . You do know who that is, right? Most powerful wizard of our time? Ring any bells? My fucking life is in danger every fucking day, Granger. He lives in my house for Salazar’s sake! How on earth do you think I could be a spy if I was not damn well near perfect at Occluding my mind!? I guarantee you, my skills in this area are actually quite high. The worry here is that you won’t be able to master this particular skill set, which would, in fact, put my life in even greater danger. My life, in the hands of a fucking mudblood. Where the fuck did I go wrong here.” He had turned back towards the flames, and seemed to be saying the last bit of that rant to himself, but none the less, Hermione heard it. And it struck a chord. 

“How can you speak like that Malfoy? You are supposed to be on our side, but you still think muggle-borns are inferior?” She meant to have some fire behind her words, but his declaration had shocked her into a near whisper. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I don’t know why I expected anything else from you, really. I’ve known you for years now, and you’ve always been like this. And if what the Headmistress says is true, then you have been a spy for quite a few years now, which means that even though you were on  _ our _ side, you still acted like a total and complete arse! I wish she hadn’t chose me for this, Malfoy, but unfortunately for both of us, she did. You can either suck it up and teach me, or let me learn it on my own. Either is  _ fine _ by me. Actually, I take that back, learning on my own is most certainly preferable.” Hermione huffed, and stood from the couch, heading towards the door, only to pause with her hand on the knob when Malfoy shouted at her.  

“Fuck you, Granger. I didn’t exactly choose this either you know. You think it’s easy being a fucking spy? If I had another choice, you better believe I wouldn’t be here! This is not fun for me, you realize that, right? Risking  _ my _ life, knowing my mother is living with the fucking Dark Lord. Merlin, Granger.” His voice was suddenly quieter, filled with raw emotion that Hermione had never heard from him before, “If he found out about me, what do you think he would do to her? He would punish her in a way that would make her beg for death. That’s not something I want to risk, but here I am. Fucking risking it. So shut your fucking mouth about what you think you know about me. Fuck you!” Malfoy’s alabaster skin had taken on an uncharacteristic red tint, and he was visibly shaking in anger. 

“Don’t worry Malfoy, you won’t have to deal with this mudblood for much longer. I’m going to ask the Headmistress to remove me from your schedule permanently.” Her voice was cold, and she didn’t wait for a response as she twisted the handle and exited the Room, slamming the door behind her, and watching it disappear. 

“For Merlin's sake!” Draco shouted at the empty room, balling his hands into fists. That girl had gotten under his skin, and he wasn’t even sure why. It’s not like she had anything new to say to him. Turning to sit on the couch, he put his head in his hands, and sighed. 

After a few minutes his anger had rescinded, and he was left with an empty feeling. That was the first conversation he had about his true allegiance with anyone except Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape in over two years. Those conversations hardly counted either, since it was all business with them, and simply discussing urgent matters rarely met the weird need he felt to talk about his life with someone who could understand. It had been years since anyone had known his secrets, and he was tired of pretending to be someone he wasn’t every second of his days. At school, at home, obviously in the presence of the Dark Lord and any Death Eaters, he was Draco Malfoy, ever obedient son, young protege Death Eater, loyal to the cause. It was becoming harder and harder to continue walking the line between his roles. Acting the faithful Death Eater servant to the Dark Lord, but keeping his true allegiance on the other side of the war. Some days he had to talk himself out of giving up and giving in to becoming a true, heart and soul Death Eater. Other days he had to talk himself out of exposing his ties to the Order and joining them full force, finally fighting from the right side. 

Standing from the couch, Draco headed towards the door himself, and back into the castle corridors. Shaking off the feeling of disappointment from losing his shot at a truthful conversation, he made the long walk back to the dungeons, and back to his lies. 

xXxXxXx

Hermione marched right to the stone gargoyle and nearly shouted the password at it, in her anger. Continuing up the winding staircase, she didn’t even pause to knock as she entered the Headmistress’ office. 

“Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall’s voice was a bit startled, no doubt from her abrupt entrance, arriving without warning. 

“I cannot work with Malfoy, Professor. He is an impossible, close-minded, blood purist jerk, and I cannot work with him!” Hermione was shaking she was so upset.

Unfazed, Professor McGonagall gestured to the chair in front of her desk, signaling Hermione to sit down. The young witch crossed the short space and planted herself in the chair roughly. 

“Miss Granger, I take it your first meeting with Mister Malfoy did not go as smoothly as you had hoped?” She paused, then asked, “Tea?” The woman seemed completely unaffected by Hermione’s outburst and declaration. 

Remembering her manners, Hermione replied, “No, thank you, Professor. And you are correct, it was awful.” 

“Did you expect to be fast friends with the boy, Miss Granger? As I recall, you have been near enemies for the past six years, have you not?” The older witch asked nonchalantly. 

“I had assumed, wrongly, that knowing his secret would allow me to see the kinder side of his personality. I am now aware, however, that he has no such side.” Still cross, Hermione folded her arms and huffed. 

“Ahh, but how can you expect to change year's worth of behaviors and feelings in a single meeting? Surely you realize that notion is a bit ridiculous,” she chided. “I would suggest instead, Miss Granger, that you and Mister Malfoy work on being civil enough to endure the lessons, and not expect any more than that.” Her reply was given in a way that gave Hermione a sinking feeling of finality. 

“Surely you can give this duty to someone else, Professor? There has to be another student who would be better matched here…” 

“Do you have a suggestion of a student who is better suited to master Occlumency, Miss Granger? You do realize that whomever holds this position must absolutely master the skill, yes? I have seen no other students here with your potential. You truly are the only one who can hope to keep his secret safe. You fit the qualifications; you are an Order member, you have great potential to be exceptional at Occlumency, and you are one of the last people who would be suspect in helping Mister Malfoy. Not to mention, the two of you are quite matched, intellectually. I have a feeling he craves conversation with someone who can match his wits, as well as someone whom he can be truthful with. Living with a secret that immense has its burdens, Miss Granger.” The older witch had picked up her teacup as though this was the most normal conversation in the world. Discussing defected Death Eater student spies over Earl Gray was just another Friday, apparently. “I don’t need to remind you that this is Order business, and as such, not a request, but a requirement, do I?”

Closing her eyes and shaking her head, Hermione felt the weight of utter defeat. The Headmistress was clearly not letting her out of this. “No, Professor. You have been quite clear.” 

“Good. Then I bid you goodnight, Miss Granger, as I have much work to do before classes resume, and then end again next week. Please don’t hesitate to come to me when you need to, but do remember your duty as an Order member.” Her meaning was obvious, even though her words were not. No way of getting out of this, and staying in the Order. Her assignment, and her position, went hand in hand. 

As she was wandering back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione thought over what the Headmistress had said. Malfoy was living one life in public, and a very different one in private. Though she wasn’t sure when he really got to  _ live _ his private life, since there were apparently only a handful of souls who even knew his secret. She didn’t want to feel sorry for the ferret, but that was something the Headmistress had said that had struck a chord with Hermione. She knew a little about an existence where those around you didn’t really know what you were dealing with. It was like that with her parents. If they ever knew the danger she was constantly in, they would never let her return to Hogwarts and the Wizarding world. So she didn’t tell them. And that secret tore her up. How was Malfoy managing it? 

Sighing in frustration, and shaking the thoughts from her head she climbed through the portrait hole.

xXxXxXx

Hermione awoke with a start, at the loud tapping coming from her window. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, and looked towards where the intruding noise was coming from. An owl was being quite persistent in its attempts to get in and deliver a letter. Groaning in frustration, Hermione rolled out of bed and opened the window for the tiny creature. 

He flew in and landed on her trunk, dropping the letter there, and then appearing to wait. 

“Oh alright, here’s a biscuit for you, you tiny little sleep taker.” She grumbled, handing the little bird a bit of a treat, then watching him hop off toward the window before spreading his wings and leaving just as abruptly as he had arrived. 

Curious, Hermione picked up the letter, and opened it. She didn’t recognize the penmanship at all, but it was lovely. After a brief moment of pure admiration for the beautiful script, she began reading the letter. Her jaw dropped. 

_ Granger,  _

_   Unfortunately for both of us, our lessons must continue. If you will agree to meet me as planned, I will endeavor to tolerate or ignore any of your inadequacies so that we may increase your skills, ultimately keeping our lives out of danger. Meet me again tonight, same instructions.  _

_ DM  _

“What an arse!” Hermione felt any sympathies she had been harboring for the Slytherin fade as anger quickly replaced them. She was sure that was as close to an apology as Malfoy was capable of making, and it was awful! How he thought that he could just order her around like that was infuriating. She quickly crumpled the letter, and held it out in front of her. 

“ _ Incendio” _ She pointed her wand at the offending piece of parchment and felt a sense of satisfaction watching it burn. 

Unfortunately that feeling faded quickly as she realized that she would in fact, have to do just as he said and meet him for another lesson. 

“What a tosser! Ugh!” She turned on her heel and headed to the bathroom to try and scrub the feeling of loathing off her skin. 

xXxXxXx

Twenty minutes later Hermione was scrubbed raw, and heading down the stairs. It was still fairly early so the common room was empty. She briefly contemplated sending Malfoy an owl back with some snarky remark, but decided it would probably piss him off more to receive nothing. Instead, she sat down in the large plush chair in front of the fire and continued reading one of the books she had picked up on Occlumency. 

That was exactly how Harry and Ron found her two hours later, as they emerged from their dorms, dressed and ready for breakfast. 

“Morning Hermione!” Harry was always cheerful in the morning, unlike Ron, who needed a full belly before his brain regained true consciousness. 

“Good morning Harry. Ready for breakfast?” She stood before he had answered, and walked to his side, smiling at her best friend. 

“Merlin’s sake ‘Mione, not so loud will you?” Ron grunted his greeting as he pushed past them both and headed through the portrait. 

“Ever chipper in the mornings, that one,” Harry laughed, tugging Hermione toward the portrait hole.

The three friends headed down to the Great Hall together, sat at the long table, and began piling food onto their plates. After his first three sausages, Ron finally began his evolution from  _ NEED FOOD, _ to their friend, Ron. 

“Hey ‘Mione,” he called to her through a mouthful of breakfast. “Where have you been the last couple days? We have hardly seen you,” 

She had prepared this half-truth to tell them, and actually practiced it a few times because she knew what an awful liar she was. 

“I’ve just been spending a lot of time in the library. I wanted to make sure I am all caught up for when classes resume. Plus, it’s a good way to keep my mind distracted from… from everything, lately.” She had hoped that if she added that last part in there, they wouldn’t question her further, since everyone was still hurting after Dumbledore’s death. She was right. 

“We were just worried about you Hermione, but we understand.” Harry was always the comforting one. He reached over and patted her hand, before changing the subject like the good friend he was. 

“So Ron, what is the plan for avoiding your mum this summer? With all the wedding preparations I’m sure she is an absolute nutter these days.” Harry chuckled, and Ron threw his head down to rest on the table in a dramatic show of dread over the thought of his summer hols. 

“Mate, I might be sending  _ you  _ an owl and asking if I can come stay at your aunt and uncle's.” Ron looked up and replied, and they all shared a good laugh at the absurdity of the thought. 

Once their plates had been emptied, the three headed back to the common room where Ron and Harry changed into flying clothes, and Hermione grabbed one of her library books on Occlumency. They made their way to the Quidditch pitch where Harry and Ron spent hours zooming around, and Hermione buried her nose in the text, trying to ingest as much information as possible before her meeting with Malfoy that night. 

xXxXxXx

At exactly 6:59pm, Hermione found herself again pacing in front of the 7 th floor corridor wall that would give her a door to the Room of Requirement. She had debated showing up late, just to piss him off, but decided better of it. Since Professor McGonagall had made it clear she really couldn’t get out of these lessons, she thought it best to make them as pleasant as possible, which meant not pissing off Malfoy any more than she could help. So here she was, hand on the door that had appeared, looking at her wrist watch, waiting for the hands to show precisely 7pm. When they did, she pushed open the door and walked in, emotionally prepared for battle. 

This time the dungeon décor didn’t surprise her, and after shutting the door, she headed straight over to the couch to sit down across from Malfoy. 

“Granger” he said, inclining his head towards her in greeting. 

“Malfoy” she replied stiffly, not giving him any more.

“Look, I realize last night didn’t go very well, and-” Before he could finish that thought, Hermione interrupted him.

“Malfoy, let's just drop any pretenses we may have, and let these unfortunate encounters be simply what they are meant to be. Lessons. I have no delusions that our relationship will ever be anything more than that of a student-mentor partnering, so let's not beat around the bush, and just get it over with. Outside of these walls, I have no doubt your treatment of me will be the same as it has ever been, so if we can simply agree that within this room we are just two members of the Order, doing the jobs we have been designated, and to forgo any animosity between us, then we can get these lessons over with all the sooner.” Hermione looked at Malfoy, who seemed to have been rendered speechless for a moment while he digested her impromptu speech. 

She really hadn’t meant to be so bossy with that, and was sure he was about to berate her for being such a swotty know it all, so she was quite surprised when instead he squared his shoulders, and asked her what books she had already read on Occlumency. 

Forty minutes later with a list of books that she was to read before their next lesson, Hermione was headed to the owlery, before she returned to Gryffindor Tower. All in all, the time with Malfoy had gone far better than she expected. He seemed to have agreed with her sentiment of their circumstances, and decided to act just as she had suggested. He had asked her which books she had read, what she already knew, and when she would be able to meet for lessons. They had made a plan to meet every evening the following week, and decide from there how to continue her studies. 

With the end of term quickly approaching, they didn’t have a lot of time to get her where she needed to be in order to properly occlude her mind from attacks. If she wanted to make any progress she would have to practice as much as was possible. Unfortunately, the only one she could really practice with was Malfoy, which meant she had to actually spend time with him. 

When she arrived at the owlery, she penned a quick note to the Headmistress, asking her for a meeting the following day, and sent it off with one of the school owls. She then walked back to Gryffindor Tower, climbing through the portrait hole, and into the Common Room. She was relieved to find it empty. She wouldn’t have to lie to Harry and Ron about where she had been, again. Heading up the stairs to her dormitory, Hermione finally felt a bit of excitement about this situation. Obviously, it was less than desirable, but she was finally going to learn Occlumency! It had been on her list for some time now, but it really was rather difficult to learn on your own, and since she didn’t know any Legilimens, practicing was near impossible because she wasn’t even sure if what she was doing was working. She had been hoping to learn alongside Harry when he tried to learn from Professor Snape, but since that didn’t last long, her opportunity had vanished. Malfoy wasn’t her first, or second or third even, choice for a teacher, but if he was as good as he (and Headmistress McGonagall) had said, then she was excited to finally learn this. 

After she had changed for bed, just before she crawled into her blankets with one of the books from Malfoy’s list that she already had, she heard a tapping on her window again. Opening it she let in the owl and read the letter he dropped. Headmistress McGonagall had penned her in for a meeting the following morning. With a sigh Hermione gave the owl a treat, and shut her window. She really hated lying to Harry and Ron, but if she was going to continue these lessons she would have to stop any suspicion before it arose. She needed the Headmistress to assign her a fake task that would take her time in the evenings, so she could meet with Malfoy without having to sneak around, and risk getting caught.  

After the stress of the past few days, Hermione didn’t even make it three pages into the book she was reading before her lids were heavy as lead. She set the text on the floor by her bed, curled up on her side, and fell swiftly asleep. 

xXxXxXx


	3. Mental Exertion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  
> 
> Super shoutout to my wonderful Beta!: Dreamingofstars85

 

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Mental Exertion**   
  


The following morning, Hermione and the boys headed to breakfast as usual, and were joined by Neville and Ginny. In typical fashion, the conversation was quickly steered towards Quidditch, which left Hermione able to completely ignore everything coming out of their mouths, and instead focus on her thoughts. 

She had tried to get a few minutes of reading in that morning, hoping to cram more of that book into her brain before she had to face Malfoy again, but because she slept so late, she hadn’t been able to get more than a page in before the boys were yelling up at her to hurry and come down for breakfast or they would leave without her. Well, it had actually just been Ron yelling that. He could be such a tosser in the mornings. So she had set the book aside and gone with them. 

Pushing the food around her plate, she found she wasn’t really in the mood to eat, and instead focused on her tea. Stress always had that effect on her stomach. Eventually she finished her tea, and opened her ears again to the monotony of the Quidditch discussion surrounding her. 

Finding she still had nothing to add, Hermione stood and announced that she had received an owl from Professor McGonagall that morning, requesting another meeting with her. 

“But you just saw her a couple days ago ‘Mione! Is this… school related or…you know…?” Ron asked, begrudgingly trailing off, then rising from his seat at the table as well. Harry followed suit. 

“I’m actually not sure. I suppose it could be either. I’ll let you know when I get back.” Hermione waved goodbye to Neville and Ginny as the three friends took leave of the Great Hall. She hoped the Headmistress had a good cover story for her, because Hermione hadn’t the faintest idea how to lie to Harry and Ron for a prolonged period of time. 

Agreeing to meet in the common room as soon as she had finished with her meeting, the three parted ways, and Hermione headed towards the stone gargoyle of the Headmistress’ office.   

xXxXxXx

Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk when Hermione walked into the office, writing on a piece of parchment. She raised her other hand signaling that she would be just another moment, and for Hermione to take a seat. 

After another minute, the Acting Headmistress set her quill down, folded the parchment, and gave it to her owl. 

“Deliver this to Kingsley Shacklebolt, please.” 

Turning again to Hermione, the older witch smiled, folding her hands in her lap. 

“Miss Granger, what can I do for you?” She asked. 

“I need a cover story Professor.” Hermione sighed, “I am finding it extremely difficult to lie to Harry and Ron about my whereabouts, and it’s only been a couple of days. They are sure to catch on to something being amiss and when they do, neither of them will let it go until they find out exactly what is going on. What do I tell them?” The last question came out as a plea, and Hermione truly began to feel the weight of her assignment. The lying and secrecy was going to be awful. 

The Professor exhaled, and reached for a spare piece of parchment and her quill. “I understand that keeping this secret from those two is going to be quite troublesome for you Miss Granger, and for that I am sorry. Unfortunately, it’s not an option to inform them,” Her voice was stern and left no room for argument. 

“Yes, I know Professor, I wouldn’t dare tell them.” Hermione quickly replied, feeling the intensity of the older witches requirement. “I’m not saying I don’t  _ want _ to tell them, but I know my assignment.” She finished. 

Dipping her quill into ink, the Headmistress began to write on the parchment. “I will be needing your help to grade the essays in my classes, Miss Granger. As my new Headmistress and Order duties have both increased quite a bit since…” Sadness falling on her face, the older witch cleared her throat and corrected herself, “Recently. I find myself unable to manage the course load I had planned, on top of these new responsibilities. What days are you available to be in my office helping me?”

The Headmistress looked up at Hermione, patiently waiting for a response. When Hermione caught on, she answered, “Every day this week, Professor. At seven o’clock, sharp.” 

“Very well, Miss Granger.” Tapping the newly inked parchment with her wand, she continued, “Please keep this piece of parchment in case you get caught in the halls after curfew. I have charmed it to revise itself daily, so you won’t need another for the remainder of the term.” Handing the parchment to Hermione, the Headmistress added, 

“I take it, since this meeting was requested not to complain about your assignment, but to aid it, that your subsequent lesson with Mister Malfoy went better than the first?” 

“We agreed to a truce, within the confines of our lessons, and assignment only.” Hermione confessed. 

“Hmm, that is one solution.” Pausing, the Headmistress stood. “Alright Miss Granger. I have much to do tonight, so unless you have any other inquiries, I will bid you goodnight.” 

“No, that was all, thank you.” Hermione replied, standing and turning towards the door.

As she put her hand on the knob, Professor McGonagall spoke again. “Miss Granger, I suspect that Mister Malfoy is not the only one with something to offer in this arrangement, and you are not the only one with something to gain.” Her voice was soft, and as Hermione turned to look at her, she was surprised to see a heavy hearted, but hopeful, look on her face. 

“Professor?” asked Hermione. 

“I would just remind you that not everyone has somebody they can trust. Friendships can be formed even in the most undesirable circumstances.” 

“I highly doubt a friendship can be formed between enemies, Professor. Goodnight.” Hermione’s reply was curt, and she slightly regretted that tone as she made her way down the winding staircase. But honestly, what could possibly make the woman think that her and Malfoy could be anything close to friends? The fact that they were able to  _ not _ hex each other within five minutes of being confined in the same room together was truly a miracle. Friendship was out of the question. 

Glancing down at the note for the first time, Hermione noted that it read the date, as well as stating that she was returning to her dormitory from the Headmistress’ office. She hadn’t expected it to change except from night to night, so the fact that it gave her location  _ now _ surprised her. 

Climbing through the portrait hole, Hermione squared her shoulders and prepared to lie, again to Harry and Ron. She wondered how long it would take before she was confident in the lies she told. She hoped never. Lying to her best friends really was not something she wanted to get used to. 

xXxXxXx

Harry and Ron had both grumbled and complained on her behalf when she told them she was being asked to grade papers for Transfigurations classes. Especially when she told them her evenings were, for the foreseeable future, going to be spent in the Headmistress’ office. They weren’t surprised, however, when Hermione informed them that she wasn’t upset about the prospect, since it would be such a good way to refresh herself on the lessons they had learned previous years. 

Actually, they just laughed when she said that. 

At least that wasn’t a hard lie, because had she really been asked to do this for the Headmistress, that is exactly how she would feel. Hermione was slightly surprised when the boys had no further questions after she explained her task. They spent the rest of the day playing Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap, and in Hermione’s case, reading. She had ended up charming the cover of the book Malfoy had recommended into something less suspicious. It now read  _ As The Moon Rises _ , and was perfectly disguised as a book on Werewolves, which Harry and Ron knew was a favorite subject of Hermione’s. They hadn’t questioned it at all when she pulled out the text and began reading. 

After dinner, Hermione told Harry and Ron that she was going to head to the Headmistress’ office early, to see if she could get a head start on grading those papers. They both bid her farewell, but not before teasing her about her study habits and hobbies. Laughing, the three friends parted ways, and Hermione walked towards the Transfiguration classroom in case anyone was watching. After spending about five minutes sitting at a desk there, she stood, making her way up to the seventh floor, and the Room of Requirement. 

Because it was only six, rather than asking for the room Malfoy had created, Hermione instead asked for a room like her own common room, in which she could meet Draco Malfoy, and only Draco Malfoy. A room which he could find no matter what he asked for, and for Merlin’s sake, she wanted it to be warm! 

After three paces, Hermione walked through the door that had materialized and into a replica of the Gryffindor common room. The large fireplace was alight with a crackling fire, and she was delighted with the heat that spread around the room. Heading over to the couch in front of the fire, Hermione pulled out the book Malfoy had suggested and began to read. It was much easier to focus in the quiet of this faux common room, and she was quickly lost in the pages. 

Which is why at ten till seven, Hermione found herself jumping nearly off the couch in fright as Malfoy bellowed his entrance. 

“Are you trying to give me heat stroke, Granger?! It’s a fucking furnace in here! Salazar!” He shouted out, immediately taking off his robes, leaving him in a crisp white button up and black slacks. Recovering from her shock at Malfoy’s abrupt entrance, Hermione absently noted that his outfit was probably worth more than her entire wardrobe. 

“Why in Merlin’s name are you here, Granger? You are supposed to arrive at seven.  _ I _ am supposed to request the room for us. That was the arrangement, was it not?” He sneered, moving towards the couch she sat at. 

“I couldn’t get a quiet moment in my own common room, so I came a little early to read.” She quietly explained. 

“At least put that damn fire out. I don’t know how you can stand it! It is uncomfortably hot in here.” He drawled.

“Malfoy. I was freezing the last two nights in here. The fire stays.” She stated, determined not to freeze to near death for a third night in a row. 

“Fine. But we move to the chairs over there,” He pointed across the room, as far away from the fire as possible, at the two chairs there. They were angled together so the front legs on each touched at one corner. 

“Fine.” Hermione replied curtly. 

As they both moved towards the new location, he asked her how much of the book she had finished. 

“I have a few chapters left, but I’ve already skimmed the whole thing.” She informed him. 

“Good. Tonight we are going to do some hands-on learning, if you will.” His voice was a little kinder than she expected, and that worried her. 

He motioned for Hermione to sit in one of the chairs, so she did just that, setting the book down on the coffee table at her side. 

“Have you ever tried Occluding your mind before, Granger? While a Legilimens tried to get past your barriers?” 

“No…” She shook her head. “I tried to learn when Professor Snape was teaching Harry, but without someone trying to enter your mind, it’s rather hard to know if you are actually doing anything correctly.”

Malfoy sighed deeply, and actually looked a little apologetic as he pulled his wand out. 

“Alright, Granger. You have to put barriers up around your mind. Try to keep me out. Unfortunately it works best if you have some motivation to keep me out, so I will be looking for, err, memories of a more personal nature.” 

“What do you mean by  _ personal _ nature? Malfoy-”

“ _ Legilimens _ !” His voice was quiet, but his presence was powerful, and Hermione quickly realized that her barriers were not going to hold up against him. 

xXxXxXx

Twenty minutes later Hermione was panting, and a layer of sweat was beading across her forehead. Malfoy had walked across the room, and was pouring a glass of water. 

In a gesture that truly surprised her, Malfoy walked back over and handed that glass to Hermione, looking genuinely sorry. 

And as soon as he showed the possibility of a redeeming quality, he ruined it. 

“You are bloody awful, Granger. Did you put any effort into that at all, or did you just want to show me your entire, pathetic, disturbing love life.” He sneered in revulsion. 

“Malfoy! You’re the one who went looking for that!” She shrieked, standing up and quickly moving back towards the fire, as far away from him as she could get in this tiny, suddenly claustrophobic room. 

“Trust me Granger, that is something I could have spent the rest of my life happily  _ not _ seeing. I’m going to have nightmares. I’m finding myself particularly relieved that your love life has been so pitiful, as I don’t think I could have suffered through much more of that.” He began walking towards her. 

Hermione was beyond embarrassed, and she could feel that her face was bright red. She knew that she should be angry, but the humiliation she was feeling was so much stronger right now. 

“You could have looked for less intrusive memories, Malfoy!” She shouted at him, her voice reaching a pitch that made plain her horror at the situation. 

“I  _ told _ you, personal memories work best. You are more inclined to keep those  _ private _ . Or at least, most people are.  _ You _ , on the other hand, apparently have no trouble sharing those.” He shuddered, and continued,

“You really are garbage at Occlumency. I don’t know how McGonagall expects me to teach the abominably dreadful a skill that many wizards much more talented and powerful than you cannot master.” Malfoy was laying it on thick, and Hermione really wasn’t used to being  _ bad _ at something intellectual.

“I thought we agreed to be nice in here, Malfoy?” She whined.

“No, Granger, we agreed not to be mean. And that wasn’t mean, it was truthful. You are absolutely beyond awful, and I daresay I may have to just go stab myself and end it because there is no way you are keeping anyone who wants to get in, out.” He sighed after finishing that jab, and turned towards the chair he threw his robes across. 

“Oh and I suppose you were perfect the first time you tried this, yeah?” She spat, anger finally bubbling to the surface. 

He paused, one arm in his robes, and turned to face her. 

“No, Granger, I wasn’t.” His voice sounded a bit pained, as he seemed to recall a less than pleasant memory. “But when failing means getting Crucio’d, you learn pretty quickly.” 

Hermione didn’t know how to respond to that. She was shocked. She felt her jaw drop, and knew pity was etched on her face. 

“Malfoy, I-” 

“It’s fine, Granger. The past is over, let's leave it there.” He interrupted, before she could give any words of comfort. Not that she knew what she would even say to that kind of admission. 

As he resumed putting his robes back on, he continued speaking, “My dear aunt  _ Bella _ , was the one to give me Occlumency and Legilimency lessons. It’s a requirement for anyone above a certain level in the Dark Lord's ranks. She was not kind, unsurprisingly.” He gave a faint chuckle, before continuing, “Luckily, both came easy to me, so our lessons ended quickly. I continued to practice, eventually with Snape, and that’s how I got good enough to keep even the Dark Lord himself out.” He made it back to the couch, and sat down, gesturing for Hermione to do the same. 

“So now that you properly know what it feels like, and where exactly you need to erect those barriers, we can have a better conversation about how precisely to go about that.” 

xXxXxXx

It was nearly nine o’clock by the time Hermione found herself crawling back through the portrait hole, mentally exhausted, and utterly drained. Malfoy had instructed, then helped her practice making barriers in her mind for an hour, before he again entered her mind and broke them all down. He gave her a brief break, and then assaulted her mind again, for longer durations each time. 

By the end of the night, Malfoy had assured her in no uncertain terms, that she was  _ not _ allowed within a 100 kilometer distance of any Death Eaters, aside from himself, because her mind was practically screaming her secrets, and he didn’t want to die, thank you very much. 

Overall, it was one of the most discouraging lessons she had ever had. 

Seeing Harry and Ron sitting on the couch, Hermione headed over and plopped down beside Harry, immediately letting her body relax and resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Were the essays  _ that  _ awful Hermione? You can’t go on anymore, knowing that the first-years are so simple minded, eh?” Harry chuckled at her, and patted her arm affectionately. 

“It was a long night, alright? Grading is actually harder than it would seem, I’d like to see you try, you oaf!” She chided, although she couldn’t help it when a faint giggle escaped her. 

“Merlin ‘Mione, smartest witch of your age, and you can’t even grade a paper?” Ron earned a swift elbow to the ribs for that, from which he made a satisfying grunt and then feigned serious injury, rolling off the couch, gripping his side and shouting, 

“Oi! Mate, I’m a goner!” 

It was impossible to hold in her snicker at that, and the three friends were soon howling in laughter as he continued to roll on the floor like a dying animal. 

Eventually when their laughter died down, Hermione stood up and said goodnight, as she was beyond exhausted from the mental exertion of the evening. The boys both stood up and hugged her, and the three promised to spend the following day going over the plans they had started to continue Dumbledore’s Horcrux hunt. 

It took about ten seconds from the time Hermione’s head hit her pillow for her to fall fast asleep. 

xXxXxXx

Harry and Ron watched Hermione walk up the stairs to the girls dormitory. Once they were sure she was out of sight, Harry turned to Ron and asked him if he thought she had been acting a little differently. 

Ron agreed that something was off, but they both attributed it to stress. They had so much going on, especially following Dumbledore’s death. She was elbow deep in plans for their upcoming Horcrux hunt, from which none of them knew exactly what to expect, as well as now helping McGonagall after hours. She had a lot piled on her plate, and was really starting to show the weight of it all. They both promised to try and take better care of her, so that she could at least relax a little bit before their lives were upended again. 

xXxXxXx


	4. Your Face... It's Smiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K. 
> 
> Shoutout and love to my Beta, Dreamingofstars85

 

**Your Face… It’s Smiling**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

When Friday came around, Hogwarts occupants were starting to become restless. Students weren’t necessarily wanting to start classes again, but being stuck in the castle all week, with little more to do than mope around, was not exactly entertaining. With the underlying hum of fear and sadness still echoing from Dumbledore’s death, most of the young witches and wizards were ready for the routine to begin again, hoping to take their minds off of the outside world. 

Hermione was no exception to this line of thought, though she had hardly been wasting her time idly, as Ron and Harry seemed more than happy to do. She had met with Malfoy every night that week, and though she felt she was improving, slightly, she was still utterly awful. 

It pained her to admit that she truly was lacking in this particular skill set, and it was absolutely disturbing to realize that she agreed with Malfoy on anything, but especially her incompetence. 

Which is why she had spent hours each night,  _ after _ leaving his company, practicing and reading. She was running off of a maximum of 4 hours of sleep each night, and her patience, as well as her sanity, were wearing thin.

When she awoke to the sun beaming through her dormitory window, Hermione sat up with a start. 

“Oh my gods, what time is it?!” she asked aloud, though none of the room’s other occupants were within its walls. 

Jumping out of bed and hurrying to the washroom, she took a glance at herself in the mirror, and was a bit startled by her reflection. She had circles under her eyes, and could tell she had lost some weight. Trying to recall her last full meal, and not succeeding, she mentally berated herself for letting things get a little out of control. 

Stepping into the shower, she vowed to try and take a little better care of herself. She wasn’t trying for a repeat of her third year breakdown. That had gotten completely out of control. No. She needed to stay on top of her stress, and keep herself healthy and in check. 

When she walked down the stairs into the common room, she was not surprised to see Harry and Ron taking up their usual post on the couch, playing a game of Exploding Snap. She was however, surprised to see a tray of breakfast foods off to the side. Knowing breakfast had ended several hours ago, she smiled warmly at her friends. 

“Morning sleepy head,” Harry called to her teasingly. 

“I overslept a little.” She replied sheepishly. It was so unlike her to do that, and she was a little embarrassed to be honest. 

“A little? ‘Mione, it's nearing eleven!” Ron chided, though she knew he too was teasing her. 

“You needed the rest. You’ve been wearing yourself a little thin lately, Hermione.” Harry pointed out. “We slipped some breakfast for you, and I put a stasis charm on it to keep everything warm.” He gestured to the tray, and Hermione walked over and sat at the table it was placed on. 

“Thank you, really,” She said through a lump in her throat. It wasn’t often that those two thought of these kinds of things, and Hermione found it a bit relieving, being taken care of in this way. She was usually the caretaker of the trio. 

She quietly picked at her breakfast, breaking off a piece of the toast, and spreading some jam on it. She also finished the little bowl of fruit, and then took the cup of tea over to the couch, and sat between her boys. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy this week. I’m not sure how I managed to have more on my plate during a term break than I usually do during the rest of the year.” She chuckled a bit, but her apology was sincere. She found herself feeling a bit distressed, knowing that this was probably one of the last times they would have to spend together, in a semi care-free capacity. Pushing that thought aside, Hermione straightened up, and took a deep breath. 

“We need to continue planning, and researching. We have an idea where one...” pausing, she cleared her throat, conscious of her audience, “Ehem, item, may be located, but we need to sort out the rest. I was thinking we could spend some time in the library today, exploring possibilities. Three sets of eyes are better than one.” She added that last bit when both boys groaned at her mention of the library. 

“Honestly, you two. You don’t think these ideas just  _ pop _ into my head willy nilly, do you? I actually have to spend time researching and planning! It’s high time you joined in on that process a little more,” she scolded, rising from the couch. 

When neither boy made to follow, she placed a hand on her hip, and said in her most convincing voice, “You can either get up and follow me on your own free will, or I will hex you from here to the library.  Your choice. Either way, you will end up in the library with me.” 

Harry and Ron exchanged a look between them, then both boys jumped up and raced to the portrait hole, each determined to be the first one out of the room. Chuckling, Hermione turned to vanish the breakfast tray back to the kitchen, and then followed them out. 

xXxXxXx

Several hours later, Ron looked to be near hysterics over the fear of skipping dinner, as they had already studied straight through lunch. Taking pity on her friend, Hermione closed her book, and levitated it back to its position on the shelves. 

“Alright, I think we’ve done enough for now. I honestly don’t know how we are going to do this…” She trailed off, looking towards Harry. 

“We will figure it out, Hermione. I promise.” Harry assured her. 

“Lets go figure out dinner, ‘Mione. That’s something we can do now that will actually be productive and beneficial.” Ron added, not seeing the look of contempt Hermione shot him. 

He was out the door before she could even inform his that studying was never truly a waste of time, and he would probably benefit a great deal if he attempted it more often. 

Harry shrugged his shoulders, giving Hermione a look that said ‘ _ what do you expect’ _ , and tugged on her hand, leading her out of the library, toward the dining hall. 

The students and staff were back to their normal level of chatter during meals, which was to say, they were loud. Hermione and Neville were discussing a Herbology project they would surely pick up again in class on Monday, while Harry, Ron, and Ginny talked about Quidditch. Surprise, surprise. The friends spent nearly an hour just enjoying the company of their fellow classmates, before things began to wind down, and Hermione stated that she was headed back to the library to ‘finish up’ a few things before helping the Headmistress grade papers that evening. 

While Harry and Ron assumed she was headed back to pick apart more information on Horcruxes, she actually ended up borrowing the remaining book that Malfoy had suggested, which she had yet to read. As soon as she was in the corridor, safely away from Madame Pinces’ prying eyes, she charmed the book jacket, and then headed back to Gryffindor Tower to read a little before meeting Malfoy. 

xXxXxXx

During the short walk towards the Room of Requirement, Hermione briefly thought of the last few times she had met with Malfoy. He certainly wasn’t being nice to her, but she had noticed his attitude had changed, just the slightest. He no longer made rude remarks to her, unless it was about her inability to properly occlude her mind. Which meant he was still an arse more often than not. 

But she couldn’t deny that they had fallen into an almost companionable indifference. Neither was set out to make the other miserable, and both seemed to be tolerating the other's presence more and more with each lesson. She still had some minor doubts about his allegiance, because honestly, what  _ did _ he get out of this arrangement that he had with the Order? Shaking her head, and the thoughts from it, she paced and waited for the door to appear. 

Walking inside she spotted Malfoy sitting at the couch, as usual. Other than the day she had arrived early, he beat her here for every lesson. After that day, every time she opened the door and entered the room, it had been a recreation of the dungeon common room again, but with one subtle change. The fireplace gave off heat. 

Malfoy had also been leaving his robes on the chair near the door, presumably because they were too warm with the added heat from the fire. The first day he had done this, clearly for her benefit, Hermione made to say something, thanking him for being considerate, but he had stopped her before she could get through a proper thanks. After that, she didn’t mention it again, but every time she walked into the warmth of the room, she smiled a little, knowing he had done it for her. 

Seeing even a small, teeny tiny peek of a kind gesture from Malfoy was truly something she couldn’t reconcile with her previous preconception and image of the boy. It was just plain weird. Obviously he felt weird about letting that side of him show as well. So they chose to ignore it, outwardly at least. 

They began the lesson that night with yet another embarrassing intrusion of her mind. But when Malfoy went looking for that scene of her most… _ memorable _ … kiss with Viktor, something changed, and she suddenly snapped her eyes open and angrily shouted at him, 

“Stop it, Malfoy!” 

“I’ve seen that disgusting memory at least five times now,” he drawled, looking amused at her reaction. 

“That doesn’t make your invasion of my privacy any less rude, Malfoy!” She stood up and walked toward the other side of the room. He let her huff for about a minute. 

“Hey, Granger,” he slyly called. “Did you notice that I only saw the first disgusting kiss of that memory, and nothing else? You effectively blocked the rest from my invasion.” 

She stopped and spun around, dropping her jaw. Actually, she hadn’t noticed that at all.

“Are you sure?” 

“Trust me. I would know if I just had to suffer through that miserable experience of yours again,” he drawled. 

Forgetting any anger she just harbored, Hermione began jumping and screaming, clapping her hands together in excitement.

“Merlin’s beard, Granger, will you shut up!? What is wrong with you? You are acting like a child! Actually I take that back, even children are more civilized than that.” He said this while he covered his ears, his face contorted in absolute abhorrence at her behavior. 

“Malfoy! I did it!” She finally stopped screaming, and quickly bounced towards him. 

Holding up in arms in the universal gesture of ‘ _ Stop _ ,  _ don’t come near me’  _  Malfoy balked at her advance. “Granger, whatever it is you have going through your mind right now, stop.” He warned.

She paused, feeling unsettled, realizing she had been about to hug him in her excitement. She tried to shake the feeling that had washed over her, and cleared her throat, making her way back to the couch instead. She sat down and insisted he try again. 

xXxXxXx

After three more sessions where she was able to keep barriers around at least one memory he tried to intrude on, Hermione was absolutely spent. She had forgotten that mental exertion could manifest itself with such physical symptoms. When she had learned to produce her Patronus, it had felt the same. 

Slumping on the couch, she sipped the water Malfoy had given her, another weird gesture of kindness she couldn’t get used to coming from him. 

“You’re actually starting to not suck, Granger.” It was the closest thing to a compliment that Hermione had ever gotten from him, and she beamed. 

“Malfoy! Are you being  _ nice _ to me?!” She smirked, throwing her feet up onto the other side of the couch. 

“Have you gone bloody mad? I said you didn’t suck, not that you were good!” he snapped. Apparently Malfoy didn’t like to be caught doing good deeds. She would have to remember that, and make note of each  _ not awful _ thing he did. Save them for later to taunt him with, if needed. 

“Alright, alright, I don’t suck. At least we are getting somewhere right?” She mumbled. 

They let the silence sit for a while, comfortable enough with each other's company now that they could enjoy the quiet. After a few minutes, Hermione sat up a little, tucking her legs underneath her, so that she was only on her side of the couch again. A moment later, Malfoy sat down opposite her. 

“Malfoy, can I ask you a question?” she whispered. It was kind of unprecedented for them to discuss anything other than the lesson, or Occlumency in general, and she wasn’t sure how he would respond. 

“Granger, what you can or cannot do is not up to me. I don’t know your abilities. However, if you’re asking if I would answer a question that you asked, then I’d say,  _ maybe _ . It depends entirely on the question.” Of course Malfoy would have a snarky response. Of course he would. 

“Why are you in the Order?” It had been bugging Hermione since she first found out that Malfoy was a spy. What was in it for him? She patiently waited for his response, not even sure if he would give her one. She actually expected him to tell her to sod off. 

When he sighed deeply, and actually took a moment to think about his response, she was beyond surprised. 

“It’s not actually that hard to figure out, Granger. What kind of deranged person actually enjoys any of this shite that the Dark Lord does? He fucking tortures people. Because of their parentage. I mean, how fucked up is that? You can’t help who your parents are, anymore than you can help what color your skin is. It’s a fucking messed up ideology, and I cannot get behind it. Even pretending to be a part of it…” His voice was just a broken whisper now, “It kills me.” He shook his head, unable to put into words the misery he felt at being a part of something so evil, so awful. Even if he was only a part of it to destroy it from the inside out. 

“What about your parents, Malfoy? Don’t they… believe in all this?” she asked, gently. 

“My father is a fucking tosser. A puppet. He does as he is told, blindly following whatever he thinks will be best for  _ him,”  _ he sneered. His obvious disgust for his own father made Hermione incredibly sad. How awful it must feel to be so distant and  _ different _ from one's own parents. 

“My mum though, she doesn’t believe in any of this. She just goes along with whatever my father says, because she thinks it will keep me safe.” His utter conviction in that statement left Hermione with nothing to do except believe it herself. 

“Malfoy, I’m sorry,” Hermione offered, knowing he would reject the sentiment. 

“Yeah, we’ve all got something, Granger.” He lamented, becoming so lost in thought that Hermione didn’t dare rouse him from his own mind. Staring at his features, she truly did feel sorry for him. 

It was another ten minutes of silence between the two before Hermione decided to speak again. They had only planned their lessons until this one, and had to decide how to proceed once classes resumed, and what to do when the term ended.

“So…” She broke the silence between them, letting the word linger in the air for a moment, giving him the chance to surface from his thoughts. “What’s the plan, Malfoy. Do we continue lessons, or…” 

“Granger, for Salazar’s sake, I said you didn’t suck. You aren’t good by any means, and you still bloody need to work on this shite.” He bellowed, and then he actually grinned at her. Malfoy. Grinned. At her. Hermione Granger. What in Merlin’s name was the world coming to?

“Malfoy. Your face…it's smiling.” She teased, trying and failing to stifle the giggle that surfaced. 

“Yeah, Granger, it does that, you know.” He was downright grinning now, and it was just weird. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, and began laughing uncontrollably, holding her stomach as she nearly fell off the couch. 

“Okay, enough Granger. You are being ridiculous.” He was frowning now, no longer amused. 

She didn’t quiet. 

“Seriously, Granger, stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself. And I won’t feel bad just leaving you here, you know. One less person to know about my secret if you died.” But she couldn’t stop. It must have been a mixture between her utter lack of sleep the last week, and her body’s extreme need to feel something other than grief, and stress. Whatever the cause, it felt  _ good. _ For the first time in over a week, Hermione felt good, and it was because of Malfoy. What in Godric’s name was wrong with her? 

“Ohh my gods! You can smile! I never thought I’d see the day!” As the giggles finally subsided, Hermione clutched her side willing the stitch to go away. Once she was fully recovered, she added, “Alright, we will continue lessons next week. Same time, every day?” 

“Yes. And if you ever do that again, I will not hesitate to use a Full-Body Bind on you, until you cease.” His voice sounded sincere, but his face showed the slightest smirk, and Hermione almost lost it again. Almost. 

“Oh fine, fine. Don’t be such a spoil sport. It really was funny Malfoy.” 

“Sod off, Granger. I’m a bit bothered that we only have a week left to get you to be a fully competent Occlumens.” He contemplated something for a moment before adding, “Meet me tomorrow. I’m sure any unfortunate plans you may have had with Potty and Weaslebee can be easily rescheduled.”

“Malfoy! It’s the weekend!” She whined. 

“Oh, and the  _ weekend _ has stopped you from studying before, has it? Seriously Granger. You still can’t keep me out of your mind, and until you can, we need to practice.” He ordered. 

Rolling her eyes and standing up, Hermione shook her head at him, and made her way to the door. 

“Fine, Malfoy, fine. Tomorrow it is then. What time will you be gracing me with your presence?” Her reply was a little curt, but she knew he was right. She had a lot more to learn before she was going to be able to actually successfully use Occlumency against a Legilimens. 

“I don’t want to spend the entire bloody day with you so let's just get it over with early.” 

“Okay. Eight o’clock?” She asked, unsure of what exactly  _ early _ was to Malfoy. 

“That’s fine,” he answered. 

Nodding her confirmation, Hermione opened the door, slipped out into the corridor, and headed back towards Gryffindor Tower. 

As she lay in her bed later that night, she would think of how strange it was that she had an actual conversation with Draco Malfoy, that wasn’t necessarily forced, and it wasn’t cruel either. It was just,  _ normal.  _ Almost _. _

xXxXxXx


	5. Sitting in Dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter will very briefly mention non-con/rape. I’m not going to put trigger warnings in each chapter, but I wanted to give a quick reminder, this is going to get dark.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K. 
> 
>  
> 
> >>Super shoutout to my wonderful Beta!: Dreamingofstars85

 

**Sitting in Dirt**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Draco was used to being awoken at all hours of the night with owl taps to his window. It came with the territory of being a Death Eater and an Order member, simultaneously. His mother also had a tendency to send him letters in the dead of night; she was often unable to sleep and had a habit of worrying about her only son. 

So it was no surprise to Draco, when he heard the familiar tap-tap-tap of an owl beak that night. Looking at his clock, he noted that it was just past midnight. Sliding out of bed, he opened his window to the night, and let the bird drop the letter, before it promptly flew out again. Shutting the window, he returned to his bed, and crawled back into its warmth, opening the letter there. Scanning the parchment, he noted it was from his aunt, Bellatrix. 

Intrigued, Draco started at the top, and began reading. By the second paragraph, he had bolted upright in his bed, and nearly shouted in shock at what he was reading. He lit a  _ Lumos _ , and threw on his robes, shoving the parchment into his pocket. 

Moments later he was sprinting out of the dungeons, and toward the Headmistress’ office. He hardly stopped to say the password and let the gargoyle move aside before he was racing up the staircase, and then banging on the Headmistress’ door, shouting for her to wake up. 

“What on earth— !?” McGonagall appeared in the doorway clearly shocked and confused, especially when she realized it was Malfoy who had come to her at this hour. 

“Mister Malfoy, I must insist you quiet yourself, and explain what you are doing here!” She scolded, wrapping her robes tighter around her body, against the chill, as well as, he assumed, himself. 

Without speaking, Draco shoved the parchment toward her, and let the older witch read it for herself. Moments later, he watched as the Headmistress’ face paled, and her jaw fell open. 

“Mister Malfoy, I don’t— ” She was lost for words, trying to digest this new information. “Rodolphus Lestrange? But he is one of You-Know-Who’s most loyal supporters! He has a wife!” She proclaimed, unable to keep the shock from her face. 

“Yes, but it is well known that their marriage was purely a political, and financial, move. They are both known to have,” clearing his throat, “strayed.” He finished, and waited for the witch to respond. 

“Who was— ” McGonagall started.

“It doesn’t say. Just a pureblood witch who was killed during the first war.” Draco answered her question before she had a chance to finish asking it. 

“Alright, Mister Malfoy. This is very grave news indeed. Thank you for bringing it to me.” Her tone suggested that she was done discussing this, but Draco was not. 

“We have to tell her.” 

“Yes, we do. This will come out one way or another. Best to warn her ahead of time, lest she be surprised, and unprepared for it later,” the older witch agreed. Sighing, Professor McGonagall walked over to her desk, still carrying the letter. She picked up a piece of parchment, and began a letter to Kingsley, who had been heading up Order operations while she was at Hogwarts. She quickly penned him, as Draco stood silently across from her desk, waiting. When she was finished, she folded and sealed the parchment, and set it aside, to send out in the morning. 

“When will you tell her?” Draco found himself actually concerned for Granger, which was a very strange feeling indeed. He found he had somehow developed a slight,  _ slight _ , soft spot for the swotty witch, and knew this information would shake her to the core. 

“As soon as possible, I suppose. No point putting it off. Might as well inform her tomorrow, so she has a chance to digest it over the weekend, before classes resume again.” She sighed, fervently wishing this had not come to light. The poor girl had enough on her plate as it was. 

“We are meeting for a lesson tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.” Draco informed her, and held his hand out, silently asking for the letter back. “I’ll be needing that,” he added when she made no move to return it to him. 

“Alright, Mister Malfoy. I will meet you there tomorrow then. I need not tell you we must keep this new piece of information silent for now.” 

“Obviously,” he sneered at her. His whole life was about fucking secrets, why would this be any different?

As Draco descended the stairs, and headed back to the dungeons, he couldn’t help but feel that something was about to shift; and though he didn’t know what it was, he knew a major change was brewing.  

xXxXxXx

Hermione slept for exactly four hours and thirty-five minutes that night. Which actually was not a bad stretch, considering her sleeping habits recently had been awful. The stress, grief, and unknown kept her up late at night, woke her up early in the morning, and had her tossing and turning every moment her eyes were closed. 

So when she found herself climbing out of bed at five that morning, knowing Harry and Ron wouldn’t even be up before she had to leave to meet Malfoy, she decided to just brush her teeth, get dressed, and go early. That way she could get a bit of reading done in peace. 

Smirking as she paced past the wall, Hermione was strangely excited at the fact that she got to choose the room today. She was growing tired of spending so much time in the dungeons -  _ well, close enough _ \- and she wanted a change for today. 

When she walked into the room, she was delighted to see a piece of her past come to light. The room was small, but quaint. There was one large couch pushed up against the wall, and a low table in front of it. The other three walls were lined with bookshelves. A tiny chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, and a large, very fluffy rug sat in the middle of it all. This was the reading room from the library in her hometown. She had spent many hours sitting, curled up on that couch, and the room was entirely nostalgic, and comforting to her.

Plopping down on the couch, Hermione opened the book she had brought along and lost herself in it; letting her mind focus on the text and relieving herself of the stress she carried, if only for this moment. 

It was five till when she heard the scraping of the door that signaled Malfoy’s arrival. Finishing the sentence she was on, Hermione closed the book, and looked up at him, noticing that he looked rather worse for wear. 

“The bloody hell is this, Granger?” he questioned of the room, before she could even say good morning. 

“Not the damn dungeons, that’s what,” she said under her breath. 

“Ob-vi-ously” he sneered, unamused. Apparently he heard her.

“So, what’s the plan today, Malfoy? Are you going to grumble about the scenery forever, or are we going to get this over with so we can both continue our days?” She stood, and crossed her arms, almost challengingly. Before he could answer her, the door knob began to turn again, and Hermione’s face paled in fright at being caught. 

A moment later, when Professor McGonagall walked in, Hermione was surprised, but relieved. “Professor! What are you doing here?” She asked, a bit of the shock she felt coming out in her voice. 

“Unfortunately, Miss Granger, I have some news I need to pass along to you. Please, sit.” The gravity of her voice had Hermione immediately backing up and taking her seat on the couch. She noticed Malfoy didn’t seem surprised by the Professors presence at all, and quietly wondered what was going on. 

“What’s this about—”

Cutting her off, the older witch began to speak. “Last night, Mister Malfoy received a letter, from his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange,” she began, her voice low and grave. “He has been ordered to keep an extra close eye on you, Miss Granger. Bellatrix has asked him to report back to her with every detail he can find out about you.” 

“What?” Shocked and confused, Hermione didn’t know what to say. “Why? Why me?” 

Hermione saw Malfoy reach for something out of the corner of her eye, and was surprised when he handed her a piece of parchment. She began to read it, and her jaw fell open. Tears sprang unwelcome in her eyes, as her entire world cracked in front of her. 

“This...this can’t be true, I’m not adopted—” She whispered, looking up at the Headmistress, who had nothing but pity in her eyes.

“Unfortunately, Hermione, it seems to be legitimate. I owled…one of my contacts early this morning, and they confirmed that this has been a topic of discussion recently; though they had no idea it was  _ you _ to whom Bellatrix was referring. Just that her husband had an illegitimate child somewhere.” She confirmed, a sadness in her tone.

It was almost laughable. In fact, Hermione would have been doing just that, had the Headmistress’ face not been so grim. She could see the pity and sorrow etched on the woman's face, and that was what made Hermione truly second guess her entire existence. 

Looking at the letter in her hands, Hermione read it again, and again. It said that Bellatrix’s husband, Rodolphus, had been quite…well it said he fucked a lot of women, actually.  _ How anyone could use that kind of language with their nephew! _ she thought, and then quickly dismissed it, shaking her head.  _ Bigger things to worry about, Hermione _ . 

“So Rodolphus was a pervy adulterer. That doesn’t prove - that doesn’t prove anything about  _ me _ . Why would she say it was me?” Hermione asked, trying to point out the holes in this argument. 

“That was my question too, Miss Granger. My contact said that during the attack at the Ministry last year, Dolohov had been covered in blood. Bellatrix had syphoned the blood off of him, and saved it for Godric knows what. Apparently, she decided to test some theories with it. She performed a familial lineage spell with the blood from the vial she saved, and a sample from her husband. She found out that  _ someone's  _ blood from that vial was a familial match to her husband.” The older witch was clearly convinced that this meant Hermione, and her features were full of sorrow for the young witch in front of her. 

“But that still doesn’t prove it’s me at all! Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville...they were all there too!” She shouted, grasping for something,  _ anything _ that would prove this ridiculous idea was just that! Ridiculous! 

“Miss Granger...” the headmistress started, but Malfoy interrupted. 

“Granger, look at those four. You think there is any mistaking the painful genetics they all carry? Even Longbottom is the unfortunate spitting image of his parents.” He spoke, looking her in the eye. 

And she saw the truth right there in that instant. He was right. She had wondered a few times over the years, how it was she looked nothing like her parents. Where in the world her hair came from. How both her parents had blue eyes, which was a double recessive gene, and she herself had a honey brown, almost cognac color. Both her parents had  _ very _ light, ivory skin, and Hermione’s own skin color was not dark, but it was definitely more pigmented than her parents…

And that's when the waterworks started. Her body began shaking, and she suddenly felt nauseated. The Headmistress wrapped a comforting arm around the young witch, and Hermione just sat there and cried. She wasn’t sure how long she wept, but eventually her eyes began to dry, and she looked up at her mentor, shaking her head. 

“This can’t be true. What happened?” she whispered, wiping her eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Granger. Someone from the Order will be sent to your parents’ house as soon as possible to check them for signs of obliviation. It would seem that you are not the only one who has been tricked here,” she reassured, releasing her arm from Hermione’s shoulder, and standing up.

Hermione watched the Professor stand, and when she turned around, the look she was given nearly set her off on another wave of crying. 

“Please don’t tell me you are about to say I have to keep this secret, too?” she pleaded. 

“Unfortunately, Miss Granger, until we know more, we cannot let this information out. Mister Malfoy is one of the few who have been trusted with this, and it would look very badly for him if this were to become widespread.” Minerva really did feel sorry for the poor girl. Discovering this kind of life-altering information, and not being able to share it with the two people she trusted and confided in the most was going to be absolutely frustrating. She only hoped that the girl would heed her suggestion of bridging the past between her and Mister Malfoy, and possibly even planting the seeds of friendship. They both needed someone to confide in now, and she had a feeling if they could get over the past, they would find more could be gained from this relationship than just education. 

Heading to the door, Minerva stopped at the handle, “Mister Malfoy, a word please.”

Nodding, Malfoy walked over to the headmistress, leaving Hermione on the couch with her thoughts. She couldn’t make out what they were whispering, and she didn’t care enough to try and listen. Instead she curled herself up on the couch, and let herself fall to the side, feeling numb. 

She felt like she was drowning. Her mind was racing, as was her pulse. The walls were closing in around her, and Hermione felt like her breaths were coming in through a cheesecloth. On one level, she recognized this as a panic attack, but she was far too consumed by it to be able to do anything but let it pull her under. She couldn’t be  _ adopted _ . No. Her  _ real _ father couldn’t be that evil, vile, disgusting man. It was good that she was already laying down, she thought, because she was so dizzy she doubted she could even stand. She started gasping, and shaking, beginning to think her body was actually failing her. She was dying, her organs were shutting down. Her lungs were collapsing, and this was it. She thought that might actually be better, at this point. If she was passed out or dead, she wouldn’t have to think of anything at all. 

The room started darkening, and in that moment, she knew this was it. Hermione prepared to let go, when suddenly she felt a strange pressure all around her. At first it was awful, constricting, and intrusive. But after a moment, she realized that it was coming from an outside source, not from whatever was trying to kill her. She felt herself surfacing a little, and just let herself melt into the new sensation. She felt herself swaying, and for a moment she thought she was about to fall down. Until she realized she was being...held? And  _ rocked _ ? 

After another moment, she felt her other sensations coming back, and she recognized those were arms giving her the sensation of pressure. As she struggled to come up from what felt like water pushing her down, she was hit with an overpowering scent, though it wasn’t assaulting. It was comforting, somehow, but she couldn’t place it. Fresh parchment was the strongest smell, then spices? Maybe chai? And something else she couldn’t quite place. 

It wasn’t until she felt someone's breath on her ear that she realized she was being spoken to. Focusing on that, she tried to make out the words, but they were faint and mumbled. It mostly sounded like shushing, someone saying “ _ breathe. _ ” And that's when it hit her. 

“Malfoy?!” She gasped, immediately trying to straighten her body and sit up. 

Helping her to a sitting position, he scooted her up, keeping his hand on her arm, steadying her. “You were having an episode, Granger,” he gently stated. 

Hugging her arms around her body, trying to keep the pressure she had just lost when Malfoy uprighted her, she dropped her head, and whispered, “Yes. Muggles call them panic attacks.” She was embarrassed to have had such a bad one, especially in his presence. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, the concern evident in his voice. 

“I think so. It’s just...it’s a lot.” She didn’t know how to answer that really. Was she alright? Physically, she was getting back to normal. But if he was referring to what she had just learned, then no, she was far from alright. 

“How do you know about panic attacks, Malfoy?” Hermione was very surprised that he had known exactly how to handle her in that state. Somehow he had known what she had needed in that moment, and given it to her. How very  _ un _ -Malfoy of him, she thought. 

“My mother suffers from them often,” he admitted, finally releasing his hold on her arm. “I have had to help her through them more times than I can count.” 

Feeling suddenly very vulnerable, and strangely exposed, Hermione looked up into his eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Malfoy. I felt like I was going to die, and then you…you were there, and just...thank you.”

“I’m not heartless, Granger. I’m no saint, obviously. I put on a good show, but it's not me,” he confessed, looking more lost than she’d ever seen him. 

“Can you stand?” Changing the subject suddenly, he held out a hand, intent on helping Hermione rise to her feet. Tentatively, she took it, letting him pull her up. As soon as she was standing, he dropped her hand again.

“Good, let’s go,” he ordered, with no explanation, and headed toward the door. 

“Go!? Where are we going?” Confused, she shakily followed after him. 

“Less questions, more walking, Granger. Chop chop.” His tone was light, and Hermione couldn’t stifle a small giggle at Malfoy saying  _ chop chop _ . After the stress of the morning, it was hilarious. 

Leaving the Room of Requirement, Malfoy led her down the staircases, and toward the Entrance Hall. Hermione couldn’t help her curiosity at this strange turn of events, and followed him with no further questions. 

xXxXxXx

It turns out, Hermione couldn’t keep her questions quiet for long. Well, she probably  _ could _ have if she really wanted to, but she didn’t want to. 

“Malfoy, where are we going!?” She whisper shouted, as they headed into the last corridor before they would be in the Entrance Hall. She was suddenly very aware that they could not be seen together. How had she forgotten that? Stopping abruptly, she took a step away, putting distance between them.  

“Wait a minute, Granger, then meet me outside the castle.” He commanded, before turning and walking away, not waiting for an answer. 

Well this is weird, she thought. Honestly, the whole morning had clearly been difficult, but somehow, Malfoy had taken her mind off of everything, at least for the last five minutes. Her curiosity was piqued, and she had no qualms against ignoring that awful new discovery for at least a little longer. She shuddered, as her panic attack threatened to return. Shaking it off as best she could, she squared her shoulders, and headed for the door.

Once outside, she spotted Malfoy about twenty meters away, leaning against a large tree, casually distancing himself from any of the comings and goings of the school. Hermione briskly made her way towards him, and then had to nearly jog to catch up when he stood and began walking away from her, toward the forest. 

When she was beside him, she had to keep up the near jog to keep up with his long strides. “Malfoy! Where are we going?” she demanded. 

“Once we get out of sight, we can slow down, Granger. In case you forgot, we are still supposed to be enemies.” 

Following him in silence after that, she found herself morbidly curious as to exactly what was going on in Malfoy’s mind. Far from the first time in her life, Hermione felt the intense desire to know Legilimency. 

True to his word, once they were out of sight, his pace slowed considerably, as he continued to walk toward the forest. 

“Malfoy, where in Godric’s name are you taking me?” She just couldn’t stifle her curiosity.

“I come out here to clear my head, Granger. You could obviously use some head clearing now.” He walked over to a large tree just inside the forest’s edge, pulled his wand out, and sat down. Hermione hadn’t actually seen this part of the forest before. It was a lot less menacing than the parts she had been in. There were flowers, and greenery, and the warm breeze made her feel quite relaxed. 

“Sit, Granger,” he demanded, pointing to the plot of earth next to him. Hermione could not get over the image of _Draco_ _Malfoy_ , sitting in dirt! A bubble of laughter rose in her throat, and before she could clamp her hand over her mouth, it escaped. 

“Something funny, Granger?” He questioned. 

“Malfoy, you’re sitting in dirt!.” She pointed out, chuckling, but made her way over to sit beside him. 

“I don’t see how that is funny,” he rolled his eyes at her, adding, “I’ve charmed the ground. The dirt won’t stick to us.” 

That did it. “Of course you have!” After a moment of hysterical giggling, she looked over at him and saw that he was actually smirking a little. 

Eventually, her laughter died down, and they sat in companionable silence for some time, just listening to nature. It was hard for Hermione to reconcile her previous notions of this boy with what she was seeing now. Someone who knew how to combat a panic attack, in a former adversary, nonetheless. Someone who risked his life to be on the good side. Someone who apparently - _ OH! The forest! _ That scent she couldn’t place was the woodsy, wet scent of the forest, which he apparently often took walks in.  _ Huh, _ she would never have guessed that one. 

After another few minutes, Malfoy, still staring out into the forest, spoke. “How are you feeling, Granger?” His voice was kind, and Hermione felt a string of friendship growing between them. It was an odd feeling, really.  

Sighing, she genuinely thought about that question. “I’m… shocked,” was what she settled on. When Malfoy didn’t respond, she continued. 

“I honestly don’t know what to think, Malfoy. I mean, I have so many questions, and I don’t know how to get answers to them. I mean, this is just a really... it’s...I  don’t know! It’s infuriating, and confusing, and sad, and horrifying all in one! Malfoy, my  _ father, _ ” she spat the word, “is a Death Eater! How can I...? How - what am I supposed to do with that!?” She was near tears again as she finished.

“I know a bit more about that than you might think, Granger,” Malfoy responded coldly, looking over at her. 

Gasping, Hermione quickly made to apologize, but Malfoy held up his hand and stopped her.

“It’s fine, Granger. I’ve known of my father's disgusting devotion to the Dark Lord for as long as I can remember. I’ve come to terms with it. You have just been told your entire life is essentially a lie; the people you love most have either lied to you, or were somehow tricked or spelled to accept and raise you as their own. You have every right to your feelings right now.” His tone was serious, and low, causing Hermione to draw a deep breath, and again wonder how  _ this _ could be Malfoy. 

How had she missed this much of who he was? Or rather, how was he  _ so _ good at hiding who he was?  _ Godric, poor Malfoy _ , she thought,  _ he must feel so isolated. _

“Who are you, Malfoy?” She couldn’t help asking. His behavior was absolutely astounding and baffling. This was not something she ever expected to see from him.

“A good actor, apparently.” He sounded resigned, and a bit despondent. 

“Very good indeed. But how can you act so, so cruel and awful? How can you pretend to be something you’re not?” 

“It isn’t like I want to,” he snapped. “Blowing my cover isn’t really an option here, I don’t exactly want to  _ die. _ ” 

“I’m sorry. I guess I just can’t imagine doing what you’re doing. I don’t think I could ever pretend to be that, that…” she trailed off.

“Cruel? Yeah, well with my father as inspiration. It isn’t hard to make it look real.” Sneering, he turned his head away from her. 

“Though, Potty and Weasel do make it a bit easier, mind you.” He added, turning back and smirking at her. 

“Oh? And how is that?” 

“Well, I’m not going to lie and say that picking on them is hard, all the time. I can be a bit of a jealous prat sometimes, and taking it out on them eases that, a little.” 

“Jealous?” Hermione couldn’t help her curiosity at what in the world  _ Draco _ had to be jealous of. 

“Yeah, Granger. I mean, it's not something I feel all the time. I am a  _ Malfoy _ for Merlin's sake. But once in awhile, I look at the friends Potter has; how honest and truthful your relationships are. How you would do anything for each other. Or Weasel, with his big, giant, disgusting family, and how much they love each other unconditionally? I find myself wishing, sometimes, that I had that.” The admission clearly was not an easy one for him to make, as he had turned his head away again, unable to look at her. 

Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She was feeling so conflicted. Poor Draco, being in this position, risking his life, pretending to be someone he is not. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel a little angry towards him as well. He had been  _ so _ cruel. He was awful to other students, especially Harry, Ron, and up until now, herself. How could she reconcile this boy sitting in front of her with the one he was in class, in the halls, and in front of his friends? Making the decision to push those feelings from her mind for the moment, Hermione opened her eyes, and went back to the subject that brought them here.

“What does this make me, Malfoy?” She whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion again. Sniffling, she added, “How can I ever look at my parents the same way again? How can I look at myself the same way? Godric, am I going to look in the mirror and suddenly see Rodolphus? And what about my...my biological mom? I don’t even know who she is!?” With this realization, she was crying again. 

“You’re still Hermione Granger, smartest swot at this blasted school. Best friend of Potty and Weasel. Finding out you’re adopted, that your blood status has changed, doesn’t mean your parents aren’t your parents anymore,” he insisted.

“When did you get so nice, Malfoy?” She asked, a little shocked at hearing her first name slide so easily from his lips. 

“Like I said earlier, Granger, I’m good at the show.” He sighed deeply, then abruptly stood up. 

“We best be getting back, or those stalkers you call friends are going to start to wonder where you’ve been.” He offered her a hand up, which she accepted, then dropped as soon as she was vertical. They headed back toward the castle, but once they reached a point where someone might see them together, he stopped. 

“Granger,” he took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with emotion, and that surprised her.

“It’s fine, Malfoy. Like you said, it doesn’t change anything, right?” She sighed. Giving him a faint smile, she turned from him, and made to head back to the castle. When he spoke again, she didn’t turn back to him, just listened.

“I know you can’t tell them, so if you need to…to talk, about it, I’m - I’m an option, for… for that.” The awkwardness he clearly felt was palpable. Smiling to herself, Hermione simply nodded her head, grateful for the gesture, and walked away without looking back. 

Walking to the castle alone, Hermione tried to keep her thoughts from everything she had learned today. She still had to face Harry and Ron.  _ Oh gods! Harry and Ron! How would she keep this from them? _ She made her way to the doors, feeling the weight of her new identity, and another secret, threatening to crush her. 

xXxXxXx

Once inside, Hermione kept her head down and made a beeline for the nearest bathroom. Locking herself in a stall, she performed a cooling charm on her face, and did her best to erase the signs that she had spent much of the morning crying. Taking several deep breaths, trying to push her thoughts far below the surface, she exited the stall and washed her hands, for good measure. 

Climbing the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione began translating a poem from her Ancient Runes class in her head. It kept her mind busy, at least, and away from that letter she was going to do her best to hide from Harry and Ron. 

“Do you two ever do anything besides prat around playing nonsense games?” Hermione called to the boys who were, yet again, sitting on the couch, playing some card game she couldn’t yet identify upon entering through the portrait hole. 

“Oi! Hermione! Where’ve you been? We thought you’d be back ages ago; nearly went to McGonagall’s office to break you out,” Ron chuckled at what he thought was a quite valiant statement. Hermione just shook her head. 

Changing the subject quickly, so as to keep the conversation moving on her terms, Hermione asked if they had gotten anywhere with their search for information on the Horcruxes. After weaseling out that they hadn’t made any progress (due to the fact that they neglected to even try), she sat with her friends, and began discussing more plans as to how they would find and destroy the Horcruxes. 

Several hours later she declined heading to dinner with her housemates, stating that she had been served a large, extra portion of breakfast with the Headmistress, and was still stuffed. Instead, she made her way up to her empty dormitory, donned her pajamas, and climbed into her bed. She closed the curtain around the bed and used a locking charm on it, effectively sealing herself from sight. She then cast a  _ Muffliato  _ as well, so that if her dorm mates ever decided to show up, she wouldn’t have to explain anything. 

Curling into bed, ignoring her growling stomach, Hermione finally let herself begin to dissect the events and information of the day. The sobbing began before she could even come up with any coherent thoughts. 

Eventually her tears had run dry, and Hermione began to wonder what exactly had happened. Accidental pregnancies were not very common in the Wizarding World. So that begged the question, how had Rodolphus slipped up? As far as she knew, he and Bellatrix had no children. Was that by choice? If it was, whose choice was it? Would Bellatrix be mad that Rodolphus had seemingly sought out another woman to have a baby with? And why was she then adopted out? How had they found the Grangers, and convinced them to raise her? She had so many questions, and no answers. 

She had read in a muggle book once, about the Nature vs. Nurture theory. Some people believe firmly that it’s one's surroundings that determine how a person turns out, while others think it’s in their DNA. That it’s in their blood. At the time, Hermione had thought it must be a mix of the two. There were some things that you most certainly could not change about yourself, even with the best, or worst, of upbringings. 

Take Sirius, for example. He had a horrible time of it growing up. His parents were awful blood-purists who beat their children, among many other awful things, yet he still turned out to be quite a decent human being. Even though he was taught,  _ nurtured _ , to be a dark, awful wizard, he rose above that, because that’s just who he is; his  _ nature.  _

There were also things that were clearly taught, passed down from parent to child. Hermione could think of  _ many _ of the Slytherins who simply did what their parents raised them to do. In fact, Hermione herself was that way. Her parents had raised her to be a kind, well mannered, respectful person, and that she was. Most of the time. Her temper did get the best of her, more often than not these days. Could that be something she got from Rodolphus? She shuddered thinking about getting anything from that wretched man. Surely her own parents had bad tempers once in awhile…? Actually, thinking back, she couldn’t recall her parents  _ ever _ losing their tempers, and that scared her. If she hadn’t learned that behavior, then clearly she  _ inherited _ it… from Rodolphus.  _ UGH! _

Rolling over, Hermione tried to close off her mind, and stop thinking of that man. She had two wonderful parents, who loved her, and whom she loved back. Just because it turns out she has different biological parents, won’t change the relationship she has with her adoptive parents. 

That was another thing, was she going to talk to them about it? Ask them about it? She didn’t think she could; not right now anyway. She had to keep it a secret that she even knew this, to keep everyone else safe. One day, when the war was over, she would sit them down and figure it all out. For now, though...for now she just needed to close her eyes, and sleep. 

xXxXxXx


	6. Black Hole Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I plan to be updating this weekly, on Tuesdays. I am currently far enough ahead that I can confidently say weekly updates will happen for a while, barring any crazy circumstances. I am loving your comments! Keep feeding them to me!  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.   
> >>Super shoutout to my wonderful Beta!: Dreamingofstars85

**Black Hole Sun**

**CHAPTER SIX**

The following morning, Hermione awoke before the sun rose, and she numbly crawled out of bed. Not yet ready to chase down the demons she had learned about the previous day, she undressed and made her way into the shower. 

Sighing at the feel of hot water working on her sore muscles, Hermione turned up the heat until it was painful, turning her skin a bright shade of pink as it burned her. The heat was initially uncomfortable enough to help her forget about the ache in her heart, but after a few minutes her body grew accustomed to the temperature, and her mind once again returned to the revelations of yesterday.

Turning off the water, she wrapped her towel around her body, and began getting dressed for the day. It was the last day before classes were to resume, and she intended to use it wisely, researching as much as she could about her-  _ eww-  _ just...about  _ that man _ , magical adoption, and bonds.

Feeling the need to numb at least one of her senses, Hermione dug through her trunk, searching for her Walkman. The charmed Muggle device wasn’t something she pulled out regularly, since it was more trouble pausing it every five minutes to explain to everyone what kind of weird earmuffs she was wearing. But today, she needed the distraction. Today she needed music. 

Slipping the Walkman and her headphones into her robes, Hermione descended down the staircase, into the empty common room. She wrote a quick note to Harry and Ron, explaining that she had been asked to come early by Professor McGonagall, and after that she would be spending time in the library, researching, and that if they wanted to join, she had plenty for them to do. 

_ That should keep them away for several hours at least, _ Hermione thought. They wouldn’t want to research with her at all. When given the choice, and essentially she was giving them that choice now, Harry and Ron would stay far, far away from the library. Which was just what she wanted today. She could not handle trying to keep up the façade in front of them just now. She knew she needed some time to collect herself, and begin to compartmentalize these feelings she had yet to fully delve into. 

The castle was quiet as she slipped out through the portrait hole. Not surprisingly, other students hadn't emerged from their dormitories just yet. Thankful for small mercies, and the early hour, Hermione made her way to the library without seeing a single soul; not even the ghosts had risen to disturb her. 

Sitting down at a table in the back corner of the library, she threw up a Notice-Me-Not, and made a quick list of the things she was hoping to research today. She knew she wouldn’t get quite what she was looking for from the Hogwarts library. Honestly, she was mostly curious about the man, but the books here wouldn’t have much about him, so she had to settle. Walking to the bookshelves, Hermione wondered what the best way to go about getting information on Rodolphus Lestrange would be, and how on earth she could possibly find out who her biological mother was. Cringing, she realized that the only people who would likely have this information would be the other Death Eaters. 

Plugging her headphones in, Hermione pushed play, and skipped ahead several songs. Soundgarden’s  _ Black Hole Sun _ spun its webs of melody around her, pulling her into the depths of the song. She had intended to start grabbing books and reading, but instead Hermione found herself sinking down to the ground, holding her knees against her chest, and staring at the floor, focusing on her breathing. She felt an unwanted well of tears begin to pool in her eyes, and she blinked furiously, trying to clear them. 

She didn’t want to even consider that her parents weren’t her  _ real _ parents. She didn’t want to believe that the blood running through her veins was shared by a man as foul as Rodolphus Lestrange. She knew that the woman who gave birth to her was likely raped, and almost certainly dead. Shaking her head, and wiping her tears away, Hermione decided that she should get up and go somewhere else; lest she be caught by someone and forced into coming up with a quick cover story. 

Quickly gathering her things, Hermione left the library, thankful that as it was still early on a Sunday, she was able to avoid seeing anyone in the corridors. 

She found herself pacing in the seventh floor corridor. When the door appeared, Hermione was surprised, because she had not actually been thinking of what she needed yet. She was trying to fight past the crippling pain inside of her, and wasn’t fully paying attention to the thoughts running loose in her mind. 

So when she opened the door revealing the Slytherin Dungeons, she audibly gasped. Quickly scanning the room, she realized that she was alone, and this must have been what she had silently asked for, somehow. The room was cold, even though the fire was lit. Walking over to the couch, Hermione realized there was a blanket that hadn’t been there the other times she had been in the room as the dungeons, so as she sat down she pulled it over her body, curling herself underneath its warmth. Closing her eyes tightly, Hermione sobbed until her eyes ran dry, and shortly after, fell asleep. 

Some time later, Hermione awoke gently, blinking her eyes, and taking in her surroundings. She had nearly forgotten where she was. When she realized, she jolted up, looking around for a clock.

“I thought you might have died of suffocation under there,” drawled the voice of Draco Malfoy, causing Hermione to squeal in terror and nearly jump out of her own skin, almost falling off the couch in the process.

“Malfoy! What are you doing!? Why are you here!?” she screeched, more than a little embarrassed to have been caught not only sleeping, but in a replica of the  _ Slytherin _ dungeons. 

“I could ask you the same thing, actually. I take it you enjoy the Slytherin Commons a bit more than you let on during our lessons, then?” he teased, giving her a roguish grin and a wink that shocked her. This was  _ Draco Malfoy, _ winking at her? Hermione hadn’t even thought he'd know how to tease without being a complete arse.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” She asked, shifting herself on the couch so that her legs were tucked underneath her, and she was facing Malfoy, whom she finally realized was sitting opposite her. 

Sighing, Malfoy took a moment to respond. When he did, his voice wasn’t its usual high-strung sneer, or even the authoritative tone he took during his lessons, straightforward and indifferent. No, this was something else; he sounded almost regretful and...sad.

“I’m tired, Granger.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let his head fall forward. Sighing deeply, he continued speaking without looking at her. “I have spent my entire life in this war, essentially. My father never gave up the hate or beliefs he had so strongly held when the Dark Lord was in power. I grew up in a messed up, terrible situation. My only saving grace was my mother, and even she wasn’t able to do much against my father. She kept me sane, but there was only so much she could do. By the time I entered Hogwarts, I was an eleven year old spitting image of the bastard. But in spending so much time away from him during the school year, I was able to grow up without his presence overshadowing everything in my life. Eventually, by the time the Dark Lord returned, I knew I didn’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps.” 

Hermione sat still, shocked at his easy admissions to her, but said nothing, letting him continue. 

“When I realized that I would have no choice in joining the Dark Lord, I sought out Dumbledore. I was afraid, and at first I didn’t tell him everything. I actually just asked him if I could board at Hogwarts through the summer hols. Eventually the old man got everything out of me, and though he had me make an Unbreakable Vow, he ended up telling me all about the Order of the Phoenix, and gave me a choice. I realized that even if I did have to join the Dark Lord’s ranks, I could do it in a way that would help the Order. It wasn’t my first choice, obviously, but they would use my mother against me if I didn’t cooperate— if I don’t cooperate—  and I can’t let her get hurt.” The raw emotion in his voice had Hermione close to tears, as she realized just how much of this boy’s life was being disclosed to her. 

“So you joined the Order,  _ and _ the Death Eaters?” she prodded, gently. 

“Essentially, yes. I make sure the Dark Lord and his followers believe my loyalty to him, but I pass as much information as I can on to the Order. Since I’m still in school, it hasn’t been much yet. Severus is still more helpful than I am, but once I am out of school, it is pretty clear that the Dark Lord has plans to make me his protegé.”

Hermione gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Snape?!” She nearly shouted, mortified. 

“Oh shite!” Malfoy cursed, curling his hands into fists and slamming them down on his lap. “Shite, Granger! I was not supposed to tell you that! Shite, shite,  _ shite _ !!” 

“Malfoy, what do you mean, ‘Snape’? He’s a traitor, he killed Dumbledore! What are you talking about?” Hermione was shocked and shouting; her mind was reeling, trying to figure out the meaning behind this slip up.

“Shite, Granger. Okay, shite. Snape is still on our side.” He started, and then held up his hands, predicting her reaction. “I know, I know, it doesn’t seem like it. Here’s the thing. The Dark Lord had planned for  _ me _ to be the one to kill Dumbledore. He wanted me to do it.” Malfoy’s voice cracked, “Snape talked him out of that plan, convincing him that it would be more beneficial to keep me here at school for another year, if they could. That I would be able to keep an eye on things here without suspicion like he himself faced, and I could better recruit more kids our age, trying to turn them to his side. He is the one who killed Dumbledore, but the man was already dying. You saw his hand, right? That was a deadly curse, and it was going to kill him before the year was up. Dumbledore and Snape made a plan, so that the Dark Lord would have complete trust in Snape again. How could he not trust him fully, if Snape was the one to kill Dumbledore? So they made a plan to have Snape kill him that night, and then re-submerge himself into his position at the Dark Lord’s side.” Malfoy paused, gauging her reaction. She seemed stunned, actually. 

“Granger?” He probed.

“You want me to believe that Snape killed Professor Dumbledore, because Dumbledore asked him to? Malfoy, it— it’s insane. There is no way I believe that— that is just not possible!” She was shaking her head repeatedly, and denying that what he said could be true, even if something was nagging at her that it did make sense. 

“That’s exactly what happened, Granger. Exactly. No one can know about it, because, obviously, the anger and devastation of finding out Snape had been a traitor all along had to be as real as possible. The Order's reaction had to be real; but it’s the truth. He is still on our side!” Malfoy insisted, looking at Hermione.

It took her several moments to respond. She had her hands on her face, head bent down towards her lap. Malfoy just watched her, as she digested this new information. Finally, she looked up, and he could tell she was fighting back tears. 

“Malfoy, I don’t like this, I don’t like it at all, but I suppose it does make sense. Why can’t everyone know  _ now _ though?” Hermione questioned,

“Because it has to stay real, and it has to  _ stay _ secret, Granger. Can you imagine if the likes of Weasel were captured, and they used Legilimency on him? All our damn secrets would be gone. While some of them are okay to lose, if we must, Snape cannot,  _ cannot _ be outed. He has to stay on the Dark Lord’s good side.” Malfoy insisted, giving Hermione a look that told her, in no uncertain terms, that this was final. 

“Alright, Malfoy, alright. Fine. I won’t tell.” she huffed,  “Who else knows?” 

“You, me, and McGonagall. I guess Dumbledore told her, before he died, or something. When she spoke to me, after, she made it clear she knew.” 

“Okay. Wow. That's a lot to take in.” She took a deep breath, trying to wrap her mind around all of this, and how she was going to keep it from Harry. Trying to focus on something else, hoping that as the information settled, it would become more palatable, she asked about Malfoy’s role instead. 

“You said You-Know-Who wants you to be his protégé? What is that about?” The idea terrified Hermione, and she could only imagine how Malfoy must feel. She couldn’t even comprehend having to pretend to be one of his followers; loyal to the end. It made her sick to think of, actually. 

“He’s been grooming me for a while now. He knows the mortality of his followers. They are getting older, and he needs a new generation of soldiers. Obviously, not many of the Death Eaters had children. Between the few of us there are, I am clearly the best choice to help him.” He said this without any humor, but also in a resigned kind of way, and Hermione knew he was right. She tried to think of all the Slytherins she knew, or suspected, were children of Death Eaters. Obviously Malfoy, then Crabbe and Goyle. There was Theo Nott, and Blaise Zabini; she kind of had a feeling the Greengrass girls and Pansy Parkinson should be on that list, too. The choice, she suspected, was really between Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini, and honestly, the Malfoy’s had the most money and power, so that wasn’t much of a choice at all. 

“Malfoy, how do you stand it? How have you kept it together this long? I think I would have either gone crazy, or given up if I were you,” Hermione admitted, a bit ashamed. 

“I’m not going to say it’s been easy, Granger. I have my moments. Especially when I can’t talk to anyone about the truth. I have to pretend I am just as evil as they are, all the time. There is nowhere I can just be me, and that’s what really gets to you. You start to wonder which is the real you, and which side really is the right one to be on. I’m lucky I have Severus. I don’t know how he managed to maintain his sanity, and stay with the Order undercover for all these years.” 

“You can be true here, with me,” she admitted, a bit sheepishly. It was a weird thing to say, and kind of personal, but it felt like he needed to hear it. Besides, the weird pseudo-relationship they had going here was kind of turning into something real — a real friendship. 

“I’m slowly finding that out, and it’s— nice, actually. Whenever we are in here, I can let my guard down a little, and just...just be me,” he confessed, although quietly. 

Hermione suddenly looked Malfoy in the eyes, and realized what McGonagall had meant. “Oh! Huh, okay,” she mused under her breath. She hadn’t intended to stay it out loud at all, and Malfoy gave her a questioning look. 

“Have some insight to add here, Granger?” He prompted, slyly, after she just sat quietly, looking at him for a full minute.

Embarrassed that she had made that connection out loud, Hermione admitted, “Oh, well, when Professor McGonagall had first given me this assignment, she told me that we could both get more out of it than just what we were instructed to do. At first I was a little confused, but now I understand what she meant.”

“Oh, is that so? You think McGonagall was, what, setting us up somehow? She was playing friendship matchmaker? Huh. That’s weird, and actually kind of creepy,” Malfoy stated, with a look of mock disgust. “Gryffindors are weird.”

Hermione laughed at the expression on his face. “Don’t like when other people meddle in your life?” 

“Malfoy’s do not get meddled with, Granger,” he said in all seriousness. 

Hermione burst with laughter at that, the tension of their conversation finally getting the best of her. When most of the giggles had subsided, she glanced back at Malfoy, who was looking at her with an amused expression. 

“Unless you want to spend all night in here with me, Granger, we had better start on your lessons.” He smirked at her, knowing how uncomfortable that suggestion would make her. Hermione quickly sat up straight, and began erecting the barriers in her mind, putting all focus on the lesson now. 

xXxXxXx

It wasn’t until past ten when Hermione was whispering the password to the Fat Lady, and heading into the common room. They had spent the rest of the evening studiously practicing Occlumency, and by the end of it, Malfoy had actually confessed that he was surprised at how quickly she was picking everything up. Though he was still nervous about their short timeframe, he really thought she would be able to get good enough in the coming week or so that she could at least hold off attacks from the average Legilimens. 

With that compliment in mind, Hermione dressed for bed, and crawled under her covers, intent on finishing the remaining few chapters of the last book that Malfoy had recommended to her. She felt oddly content tonight. There was still the pressing weight she felt from the knowledge of her true parentage, but it wasn’t overwhelming her. At least not in this moment. 

She planned to write up a list of questions to ask Malfoy the following day, about Rodolphus. She still was set on finding out everything she could about the foul man, and Malfoy seemed like the best resource to do that.  

Several hours after she had fallen asleep, Hermione awoke in a sweat, realizing she was having another panic attack. With no one to help her this time, she quickly made her way to the showers, and turned them on hot, stepping in with her clothes still on. 

She wasn’t sure how long it took to come back to reality this time, but it must have been more than 15 minutes. She was drenched, her skin scalded from the heat of the water, but she finally felt like she could breathe again. She had sunken down to the floor of the shower at some point, and just sat there breathing, and hugging her arms around body; trying to keep herself from falling apart. 

She had been dreaming, that much she knew. She dreamt of Rodolphus and Bellatrix, and the Longbottoms. That is what had brought on her panic attack. Thinking that the same blood that ran in the veins of the man who tortured and destroyed the Longbottoms, also ran in her veins. She was cut from the same cloth, and it scared her. How could she be as good as she thought she was, as everyone thought she was, when she came from such evil? 

Finally pulling herself together, Hermione stood and stepped out of the shower, undressing before heading back to her trunk to find dry pyjamas. She crawled back into bed, but was unable to fall asleep again. She spent the rest of the night coming up with her list of questions to ask Malfoy, as well as thinking about everything she had recently learned. Snape still being loyal to the Order, Malfoy being a bloody spy, Rodolphus having a secret love child that turned out to be her, and even Bellatrix keeping tabs on her. 

Actually, that last one was what worried her most. What was Bellatrix’s intention with that information? What was she hoping to find out? Had she told anyone else about Hermione’s true blood status? Would she just want Hermione dead because she was her husband’s illegitimate daughter? Obviously, she still wanted her dead for her association with Harry, but she had a feeling her death would be much worse than if Bellatrix had known nothing of her parentage. Bellatrix seemed like the type of woman who would not let obvious adultery go, and would find pleasure in torturing the product of his betrayal.  

Eventually, Hermione got out of bed, and began to prepare for the day. It was the first day of classes resuming, so at least there was that to keep her mind off of things until she could bring them up with Malfoy in the evening. Dressing and heading downstairs to wait for Harry and Ron, Hermione tried to banish the awful thoughts from her mind.

xXxXxXx

The whole day had been more normal than Hermione ever expected it could be. With the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts, all her lessons were picked right back up, and everything fell easily back into place. Lectures were given, questions were asked, and homework was assigned. Students were, unsurprisingly, disgruntled by that.

Defense, however was a different story. It had been taken over by Professor Lupin, which was quite a nice surprise to the students. Professor McGonagall had reasoned that there wouldn’t be enough time left in the term for students to write home and complain again, since he would only teach for the one week. They had a great lesson from Remus, but the fact that he was taking over for Snape hung in the air, painfully. 

After the lesson, Remus had asked Hermione, Harry and Ron to stay behind for a moment. Once all the other students left, he waved his wand, shutting the door, and casting a silencing and locking charm on it. 

“How are things going?” He asked, sitting in the chair at his desk, and gesturing for the three friends to sit as well. 

Hermione sighed, but Harry was the one to speak. 

“Alright, I suppose. We’ve got almost as much as we can planned out, for when we…leave. We just need to work out a few more details before we can do that.” Harry sounded so sure that they would succeed in their mission that the knot which had been forming in Hermione’s stomach started to untie itself, just a little. 

“Is there anything I can do? Minerva has informed a few of us in the Order what it is that you three will be attempting. It’s a very dangerous mission, you  _ do _ understand that?” He was always looking out for them. 

“Aye, thanks mate. Who else could do it though, yeah?” Ron chuckled, clearly trying to gloss over the danger of what they would be trying to do. 

“It’s not that I don’t think you three can do it, I’m just wondering if you will be prepared enough, or if there is even enough information out there for you to find them all.” 

“I’m doing the best I can, Remus. I haven’t got a lot to go off of, but we do have some pretty good leads. Some of them will hopefully get us at least part of the way,” Hermione replied, hoping she at least sounded more confident than she felt. 

After a couple more questions regarding their mission, and then several more friendly, catch up questions, Remus and the three friends parted. Harry and Ron wanted to head to the Great Hall for dinner, but Hermione had said she needed something from her room first, and that she would meet them there. They separated, and Hermione walked towards the Fat Lady’s portrait alone. 

Once inside her room, she sunk down on her bed, and closed her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping very well lately, and after just a few minutes, she was fast asleep. 

When she opened her eyes, it was dark outside. Hermione shot up and looked at her clock. It was five until seven! Throwing off her robes, she ran down the stairs and only stopped when she heard Harry shouting at her! 

“Hermione! Where were you? You missed dinner!” He said accusingly. 

“I fell asleep, Harry! And now I’m about to be late to help Professor McGonagall! I have to go!” She turned, running to the portrait hole, and didn’t stop running until she was in front of the seventh floor wall, where she paced back and forth until the door appeared. 

Rushing through it, Hermione was glad to see the clock on the wall read seven o’clock on the dot. She wasn’t sure why she was still so concerned about being on time, now that she knew Malfoy didn’t  _ actually  _ bite. But every day, she was sure to arrive on time, or early. 

“Merlin, Granger! Dementors on your arse?” He smirked, looking at her disheveled appearance as he watched her rush into the room. 

“No, I fell asleep. Thought I was late,” she huffed, catching her breath. 

Their lesson lasted exactly one hour and 4 minutes, until Malfoy decided Hermione looked a pitiful, tired mess, and sent her back telling her she couldn’t properly practice when she was so tired. He threatened bodily harm if she didn’t get a good night's sleep, and they both left the room, heading back to their own commons. 

When Hermione climbed back through the portrait hole, Harry and Ron were there waiting for her, and though they talked to her for a little bit, they too sent her up to her room demanding that she get some much needed sleep. 

Bidding them a goodnight, Hermione climbed the stairs, and readied herself for bed. She didn’t even bother bringing a book to bed tonight. She knew she was tired enough that she would fall asleep without any aids. Her eyes had been closed for approximately six minutes, when the last of her consciousness left her, and she fully entered the dream world. 

xXxXxXx

The rest of the week went much as the first day had gone. Classes, studying, and lessons with Malfoy. Hermione could tell she was improving her Occlumency, and Malfoy even stopped giving her a hard time about how bad she was, further proof that she was getting better. 

She had taken to skipping dinner, telling herself she really needed that time between her classes and the lessons, to just have a quiet moment to herself. She hardly had any thinking time anymore. She was as studious as ever in class, and during her Occlumency lessons she pushed as hard as she could. At the end of the day she was completely wiped out, and often fell asleep within minutes of crawling into bed. 

So she told herself that she skipped dinner because she needed some alone time, but she knew she also needed something she felt in control of. Skipping dinner was a choice she was making, and however dumb it may seem, it made her feel like she had control of something; just one thing in her life. 

She had made that list of questions about Rodolphus, and taken it to Malfoy one night. He looked at it for several moments before he crumpled it up and threw it in the fire, telling her that she really didn’t want detailed answers for all of that. 

He spent the next few minutes telling her what he knew of the man; things like how he  _ enjoyed _ torturing to the point of insanity, how he couldn’t even guess how many witches and wizards had seen death from his wand, and that he was so proud to be in the top ranks of Death Eaters, beside his wife; both so loyal to the Dark Lord. 

After Malfoy had begun describing how Rodolphus kept prisoners to rape and torture, slowly draining their magical core, until he was able to watch the last wisps of life leave their eyes, Hermione had heard enough. She couldn’t listen to anymore of the awful things about this man who shared her blood without wondering what traits he had passed onto her. Instead, she pushed it from her mind, and put even more of herself into perfecting Occlumency. 

By Thursday, Malfoy was sure that given another week, Hermione would be able to face even an accomplished Legilimens, and keep her barriers intact, and her mind closed. 

On Friday, Hermione arrived to their lesson after another nap, though this time she had set an alarm and hadn’t been rushed and running late. Malfoy was not sitting at the couch like usual, but instead at the table in the corner, and there were two huge plates of food sitting there as well. 

“What is this?” Placing her hands on the back of the empty chair, Hermione eyed Malfoy skeptically. 

Rather than answering, he asked a question. “Granger, you’ve missed dinner every night this week. Where the hell have you been?”  

Taken aback that he even noticed her absence, Hermione stumbled on her words a moment before mumbling something about needing personal time, and sleeping a lot. 

“If I wanted a rubbish excuse, I would have asked Crabbe. Try again, Granger.” He brought his tea cup to his lips and took a sip, not breaking eye contact with her. The boy was unnerving.

“Honestly Malfoy, we don’t have the leisure to be doing anything except practicing. The term is over, we are out of time!” 

“Sit, Granger. As cute as it is that you think I would waste time by not teaching you in order to feed you, I actually have a purpose here. So far, you have been focusing all your energy on deflecting me, and I’ll admit, you are getting on quite well with that. But now we are going to practice while you do something else.”

“Eating isn’t that difficult, Malfoy, that would hardly be a challenge.” Hermione was feeling a bit defensive, but glad that this weird deviance from their norm actually had a purpose.

“Obviously.” It was eerie how much like Professor Snape he sounded. 

Annoyed, Hermione sat with a huff in the chair and stared at the boy across from her, waiting for him to speak again. 

“We are going to have a conversation while you eat, and while I try to get into your mind.” He picked up his fork, gesturing for her to do the same. When she didn’t react right away, he glared at her. 

“Alright, alright, fine!” She picked up her fork, and began pushing food around her plate, “What are we going to talk about Malfoy?” Under her breath she added, “This is going to be weird.”

“Let’s start with why you’re  _ actually _ missing dinner, Granger.”

Putting her fork down and picking up her tea instead, Hermione focused first on making sure the walls in her mind were up, that every crevice was filled so that none of the probing arms she could already feel assaulting her mind could get through. Then, she looked him straight in the eye, and lied.

“I told you Malfoy, between classes, these lessons, and everything with Harry and Ron, I just haven’t had time to decompress. Unfortunately, dinner time seems to be the only time for me to do that.” The lie felt convincing, and she hoped that he didn’t see through it.

“Do you want to tell me why you only take tea for breakfast then?” He gestured to her tea cup, and raised his brows. 

“What? How do you know what I-” 

Cutting her off, “Granger, we have breakfast in the same room every day. As we’ve been doing for many years now. I am not stalking, but I do  _ see _ you, you know. I didn’t get sorted into Slytherin for no reason, I do have quite a perceptive nature.” 

“You know, Malfoy, you’re actually a great teacher, and it hasn’t been entirely awful spending time with you, but honestly,” she paused, “we are not friends, yet. You don’t get to ask me those kinds of questions, and expect answers. So, I am going to instead go over my Ancient Runes translations with you, because Merlin knows those can always use improvement, and we are going to forget we ever had this conversation.” She finished, and gave him a look she hoped conveyed that they were at the end of that particular line of questions, and pulled her Runes essay out of her bag. 

They spent the rest of their lesson going over Hermione’s, and eventually Malfoy’s, Ancient Runes translations; all the while practicing Occlumency, making sure Hermione really was able to keep up the barriers in different situations. By the end of the night, Hermione had made sure to make at least an effort on some of her meal as well, because he was right,  _ dammit.  _ She had been neglecting eating. 

At half past nine, Hermione looked up at the clock, and gasped. “Malfoy! I didn’t realize the time!” 

“Oh, shite, neither did I. I was going to ask you Granger, how opposed you would be to staying a few days after term, to make sure you really are ready for anything? I’ve actually already spoken to Professor McGonagall, this afternoon, and she said she thought that was a wise idea.”

“That must have been surprising, Malfoy.” Hermione smirked at him as she put away her books. 

“Why?” he paused, confused. 

“Well, I can’t imagine Professor McGonagall has told you very many times that anything coming out of your mouth was wise.” She was now chuckling. 

“Oh shove off, Granger.” He retorted, but his face had an amused expression. 

“So what, we would stay a couple days, and just practice while no one else was here?” The thought made her a little nervous. 

“Well, some staff will still be here. A few of them stay on at least a week or two after term ends.” 

“Alright, what is our excuse?” 

“Well, I don’t need one. No one questions me.” He said in that  _ I’m so much better than you  _ tone that the Malfoys were known for. “But for you, McGonagall said to tell you that she,” he made air quotes,  _ “‘ _ needs some help with Order stuff’ before you go home for the summer hols.’” 

Standing, and swinging her bag over her shoulder, Hermione nervously replied, “Alright, Malfoy, I suppose I will see you tomorrow, then.” 

He nodded at her, adding, “Lunch. Here,” and watched her agree with a nod of her head, before she walked out the door. 

Staring at the closed door, Malfoy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and wondered why he felt such relief that she had agreed to stay. Even though she had said they weren’t really  _ friends _ , he knew that she knew a deeper part of him than most other people did, and for that, he felt some kind of connection to her. Kindred spirit, or simply an ally that he hadn’t had before.  But either way, he knew he couldn’t lose that now. 

Once he returned home for summer hols, there would be so much darkness that he didn’t want to be a part of. There was no way to avoid the Dark Lord when the vile creature was living in his own home. He would have to participate in every Death Eater job demanded of him, and that scared him. He was older now, and the Dark Lord looked to him as a prodigy, which was good for his role in the Order, but terrible for his conscience. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. 

That’s why even just a few more days away from that hell hole was such a relief. He had lied when he told Granger that he wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse, he would need one for the Dark Lord. But he was already working on that. He planned to have McGonagall hold him back to polish trophies, and do other meaningless tasks because of some awful comments he made during Transfiguration. Fabricated story, of course, but it was believable. 

As he headed back to the dungeons, Malfoy wondered how he would survive the summer. He desperately hoped that it would, somehow, be a quiet one. 

xXxXxXx


	7. Three Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so many great comments this week! Thank you lovelies! They are so encouraging and I'm not going to lie, who doesn't love to hear they're doing well!? Anyways, hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
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> >>Super shoutout to my wonderful Beta!: Dreamingofstars85

 

**Three Quarters**

**CHAPTER SEVEN** ****  
  
****  
  


“What do you mean you have to stay into the hols, ‘Mione? That’s ridiculous!” Ron was almost yelling, as Hermione told him and Harry of McGonagall’s request. 

“It’s just a few days, Ron. It won’t be too bad.” Reasoning with this particular redhead was never an easy task. 

“But it’s just— ‘Mione it's unfair! Why should you have to give up your summer— ” 

“Ronald, the  _ Headmistress _ has asked me to stay on a few days. I’ve said yes. That’s honestly the end of it, alright? I understand that you find it unfair, but really, I don’t mind. I could have said no.” She was done arguing with her friend, and they were nearly running late to catch the train. 

“We will see you soon then, yeah?” Harry reached out and gave Hermione a tight hug, kissing her on the cheek. 

“Yes, just a few days here, a week with my parents, and then I will be at the Burrow for the wedding,” she assured them, as she pulled Ron in for a hug as well. 

“Well, if you’re sure, ‘Mione,” Ron grumbled, letting her go and grabbing his trunk. 

She saw the boys off to the train before returning to her own dormitory, which was now completely empty save for her things. Hermione decided to take some time for herself before she had lunch and lessons with Malfoy. Gathering a towel and bath supplies, and shrinking them down and putting them in her robes, she headed to the prefect’s bathroom, and drew a bath in the large tub. 

Hermione spent the better part of an hour just soaking in the tub, listening to the castle while it began to quiet as the students all departed. When she was in danger of falling asleep in the tub, Hermione rose, dried off, dressed, and headed back to the Gryffindor common room to read a bit. 

It was midmorning when Hermione left for the Room of Requirement, meeting not a single soul on her way. When she arrived inside, Malfoy was already there, and he had two trays of food at the small table again. 

“More tests, Malfoy?” She walked over to the table and sat down, already erecting the barriers in her mind, just in case. 

“It’s lunchtime, Granger. I am hungry. And I was raised to be a gentleman. It would be rude not to provide a meal for you, when I brought one for myself.” He was very matter of fact, and it made her giggle. 

“You don’t have to be a gentleman for me, Malfoy.” She did however pick up her spoon, and take a bite of the soup in front of her. 

“It is what it is. My mother would hex me if she knew I was anything but a gentleman in the presence of a lady.” He took a bite of his soup, before adding cheese to the top of it. 

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind what you did in the presence of a Mudblood, Malfoy,” She said as she took another bite. The soup really was delicious. 

When he made no comment, she looked up to see that he had put his spoon down, and was staring at her. 

“It’s just a word, Malfoy.” 

“First of all, Granger, it may be just a word, but it’s one that has been used against you more times that I can count. I would prefer if you did not use it against yourself, especially in my presence. Secondly, while my mother may not make any stands against what my father and the Dark Lord are doing, she most certainly is not  _ with _ them. She does what she must to survive, and that is it. She is a good woman.” His tone was so serious that Hermione felt as though she were being scolded by an actual teacher. 

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, I just… It’s just a word to me now. It can’t hurt me if I don’t let it.” She tried explaining. 

Sighing, Malfoy ran his hands down his face. “It’s fine, Granger. It’s just— that word is… It’s used so much in my everyday life, I just don’t want to hear it  _ here. _ ” He sounded truly disheartened, and Hermione didn’t know what to say. 

“Okay, Malfoy, I won’t say it. I'm sorry.” It felt weird that he was so affected by her use of a word that she no longer let affect her. 

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, each continuing to eat their soup, and neither making eye contact with the other. When Hermione began to feel the smoky tendrils of Malfoy’s intrusion on her mind however, she pointedly looked up at him, challenging him to do his best. Smirking, he put his spoon down, and Hermione felt the tendrils begin to search harder for any cracks in her barriers. 

“I want to learn Legilimency,” she stated pointedly after it was clear he was not going to get through into her mind. 

“I knew you would Granger. Luckily for me, we don’t have time for that. We only have a couple of days left as it is, to make sure your mind is completely impenetrable. We are going to have to make things harder now.” He pushed his plate aside before continuing. 

“I’m obviously not going to Crucio you, but you need to know that’s what you’d be up against if any Death Eaters caught you. You have to be able to keep your mind blocked while your body is…assaulted, essentially.” His voice was thick with shame, and Hermione didn’t even have to ask. She knew he had been forced to participate in that before.

She also knew he didn’t want her pity, so she mostly ignored that realization. “So, how do we make sure I’m that good, then?”

“If we can’t overload your pain receptors, then we’ve got to target your fear receptors.” His voice was calm, but Hermione felt a surge of panicked adrenaline rushing through her. 

“Malfoy, that does not sound like a good plan. Besides, you don’t even know what my fears are.” Confident, she took another bite of her soup. 

“Oh? Did you forget I was in Flying class with you first year?” 

She dropped her spoon.

xXxXxXx

Twenty minutes later, they were approaching the Quidditch Pitch. Hermione had refused, and put her foot down, and even threatened to hex him. She then turned to pleading, and even begging, but Malfoy had threats too. They included either physically picking the witch up and carrying her over his shoulder to the pitch, or placing her in a body bind and then levitating her. 

She chose to walk. 

Malfoy had charmed her robes green, so anyone who spotted them flying together would see two Slytherins, and arise no suspicions. Hermione had taken one look at herself in the mirror and made a gagging noise before she put her hood up and walked out of the Room of Requirement, to what she suspected would be her doom.

Malfoy had grabbed just one broom, and when Hermione had raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, he simply stated, “I am not letting you fly yourself. McGonagall would Avada me if you became injured.”

_ Huh, so they would share a broom? That seemed— awkward at best.  _

As they approached the pitch, Hermione tried again to make Malfoy see reason. 

“There really must be a better— ”

_ “ _ Hush, Granger. Come here.” He had already mounted the broom, and was holding out his arm to help her on. 

“You do realize my eyes will probably just be shut the whole time, so it’s really rather pointless. I’ll be focusing entirely on closing my eyes, and my mind.” 

“Uh huh. Whatever you say, Granger.” Malfoy was not letting this go.  _ Damn him!  _ Climbing on in front of him, she had just barely settled herself before she felt him kick off the grass.

As the ground grew smaller and smaller, Hermione’s breaths grew shorter and shorter. She was gripping the broom stick in front of her so tightly her knuckles were white. She heard Malfoy chuckle behind her, and then she felt the smoky tendrils trying to break through her barriers. She hated to admit it, but he was right, this was going to be hard. 

They did nothing but hover some 100 meters above the ground for a few minutes, but as soon as Hermione felt her heartbeat might be returning to its regular pace, Malfoy leaned forward and the broom was no longer stationary. 

Had she not been fearing for her life, she might have noticed how close the two of them were; sitting behind her on the broom his arms were wrapped around her waist to grip the handle in front of her.

She was, however, far too focused on not dying, and not being bested by Malfoy in her Occlumency, to notice that. She found it was much harder than she expected to keep those walls up when her mind wanted to focus completely on another matter. Especially when that matter was fueled by adrenaline. 

_ Damn him!  _ He was right and that irked her. She really did need this practice, and she hated that. Hermione decided this was just another thing she had to become good at— great at, and that was that. 

She made sure her barriers were up, and strong, before she let her mind focus a bit more on the flying. Her eyes were closed, so all she was aware of was the wind in her face, and the pull behind her navel. She took a couple deep breaths, trying to get used to the feeling of being on a broom.

She again checked her mind, making sure there were no holes in her barrier, and then went back to breathing. She tried to focus on the feeling of the wind in her hair. That wasn’t so bad. It was rather like being on a bicycle, which she had loved as a child. 

Once she found herself a little more used to the feeling, she slowly opened her eyes, and immediately inhaled sharply in panic, pressing herself hard against Malfoy, and gripping the broom even tighter, if that was possible. 

“Malfoy! Why in Godric’s name are we above the Black Lake!?” She screamed, terrified. Her breath was coming in short bursts; her chest tightening. They were flying circles above the lake, and the castle grounds were far behind them in the distance. Feeling a panic attack threatening to overtake her, she took a few deep, calming breaths, focusing on staying upright, rather than the darkness of the lake below. 

It was then that she felt that memory of riding on her bicycle come to the forefront of her mind. She saw the trees zooming by as she rode down the hill near her parents home, she could almost smell the crisp autumn air of that day—

“Shite! Malfoy! Get out!” She immediately began pushing the tendrils she hadn’t even noticed from her mind, bringing her barriers up again, making sure all the cracks were filled, and her mind was closed. 

“I saw that, Granger,” he scolded, clearly displeased. 

“Well, I’m sorry,” she snapped, still terrified. “I opened my eyes and realized I was about to die!” Her grip on the broom was not releasing, and her back was nearly glued to his chest, with the hope that being attached to him meant she stayed in the air, rather than falling to her death and drowning in the Black Lake. Her breathing had quickened again, and she knew that if she did not calm down she would soon be facing hyperventilation. 

“You need to keep your mind closed, Granger, even when you’re afraid.” His voice was low and calm, yet he sounded almost angry. 

“Malfoy, I can’t, I can’t— we need to get down from here!” She was pleading with him, and shaking. 

She felt one of his arms let go of the broom in front of them and she let out a pitiful whimper, closing her eyes tightly again, and waited for death to take her. 

It was a shock when she felt fingers,  _ Malfoy’s fingers, _ begin to run calming lines along her arm, coupled with hushed reassurances. She felt a bit of surprise when she realized that he was helping— whatever he was doing was actually calming her down. Hermione was able to get herself back under control, her breathing slowing to almost normal. It was only then that she realized how close they were; his chest pressing hard against her back. His legs on either side of her hips. She quickly shoved those thoughts from her mind, thankful for the barriers she managed to keep in place, and focused instead on staying on the death trap that wizards called a broom.

“You are fine, Granger. I know you’ve seen me fly before. You probably can’t keep your eyes off of me when I’m in my Quidditch robes,” he snarked. 

“What?! Malfoy, don't be a prat!” She elbowed him in the ribs and heard him emit a small grunt, and a chuckle. 

“Obviously kidding, Granger. But it got your mind off the fear for a moment.” And he was right, her breathing had returned to normal. 

She risked opening her eyes again, and found that, though they were still over the Black Lake, and she was still afraid, somehow her mind could be both afraid,  _ and _ closed. Taking a moment to check that her mind was still fully occluded, she could feel those smoky tendrils probing and poking, looking for any cracks or openings, but soon realized that they would find none. 

She suddenly laughed, a deep, true laugh, and felt herself relax just a little. She was still terrified, but she knew that Malfoy had really given her something with this. He had shown her that she was able to separate the pieces of her mind. She could let her fear run rampant in one part of her mind, but she could also keep the rest of it firmly locked away.

“You okay, Granger?” His hand had stopped rubbing her arm, and he sounded genuinely concerned at her unexpected outburst. 

“Yes, Malfoy, I am! I’m terrified, but somehow still keeping you out!” She was elated at the realization. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The Amazing Granger; fucking best at everything she tries, strikes again.” He sneered, though he sounded at least a little pleased that his plan had worked. He gripped the broom handle again, and began to bring them back toward the Quidditch pitch. Hermione kept her eyes open this time, and though there was an icy fear in her chest, she found that flying wasn’t actually  _ that _ bad. Not that she would want to do it for fun, mind you, but she realized that she wasn’t going to die if she had to get on a broom.At least rationally she did. Her body hadn’t caught up yet, still tightly gripping the broom and pressing into Malfoy for safety. And though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, he was actually a pretty decent flyer. 

Hermione practically jumped off the broom before they landed, and Malfoy chuckled at her, but she didn’t care. Two feet back on the ground, and she was in control again. 

“What is it about flying that you don’t like, Granger? I saw that memory of you on the broom with a handle and wheels; you seemed very happy to be on  _ that _ contraption.” he questioned, as they walked back towards the castle. 

“It’s called a bicycle, Malfoy. And I don’t know if you noticed, but I was in complete control of it while I was riding. A broom, it’s just— well if humans were meant to fly like that, we would have wings. Plus, I don’t feel in control of a broom at all, and I hate that,” she admitted. 

“What is it with you being in control?” 

Pausing, she turned to him, “Look at my life, Malfoy. My best friend is the Boy-Who-Lived. We have fought some terrible  _ something _ every year since we came here. Nothing is predictable. Nothing is in my control. I never know if the next time we go running off to save the world is going to be our last. I have to be in control of what little I can, otherwise I feel like I am going to lose it.” 

That had been more truthful than she had planned, but this weird pseudo friendship with Malfoy was becoming more and more real, and she found she didn’t mind being truthful with him. 

“I can understand that, Granger.” He was a little ahead of her, so she couldn't see his face, and he left it at that, so she wasn’t sure what to say. 

“I just— I need to be in control. It seems like things just happen  _ to _ me, all the time. I mean, for Merlin’s sake, I just found out that my parents aren’t even my parents, and my biological father is a cruel, evil man, who is probably at least part psycho or sociopath, and is blindly following the darkest wizard of our time. I can’t control that. I can’t control anything.” She stopped walking, and whispered, “I can’t control anything.” 

Malfoy turned around and looked at her. He didn’t say anything, but he stood less than half a meter away, just watching her. They both stared at each other in silence for a moment, until Hermione couldn’t handle the scrutiny, and she dropped her head. She heard Malfoy sigh, and then say “Let’s go, Granger.” 

She followed him silently into the quiet castle, back towards the Room of Requirement. 

xXxXxXx

Malfoy paused in front of the seventh floor corridor when they arrived, thinking for a moment, before pacing three times and watching the door appear. He opened it, and waved a hand, allowing Hermione through first. 

The room was not the dungeons she had been expecting. Instead, it was a large, open room that rather reminded her of Belle’s library, from Beauty and the Beast. It had shelves upon shelves of books, a large fireplace, a couple sitting chairs and couches. There were even teacups set up at one of the small side tables.

Malfoy followed her into the room, and shut the door. 

“What is this about, Malfoy? Prefer to finish our lessons off in a library, so even the books can watch me fail?” 

“We are done with formal lessons for the day, actually. I thought— well I thought maybe we could just read for a while...” He trailed off, seeming a little uncomfortable. 

Hermione walked into the room a bit more, toward one of the bookshelves. She was surprised to find  _ Hogwarts, A History _ , and pulled it out. 

“This is one of my favorite books.” 

“Granger, has anyone told you lately that you’re very strange?” 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione headed for the couch in front of the fire, while Malfoy took his robes off. 

“Partial to those colors, then?” He smirked as he walked over to the couch and sat down across from her. 

“Ugh, ew. I forgot.” She rose and shrugged the robes off, tossing them on the chair next to her. 

Malfoy mumbled something with his wand out, and Hermione looked up at him as a book flew into his hands. Curious, she leaned over and tipped the spine to read,

“Quidditch Through The Ages? Really, Malfoy?” 

“You’re one to talk Granger.” he teased, motioning to her own choice. She rolled her eyes again, but sat back in her spot and opened the book. 

The two fell into a companionable silence, reading separately, but together. At one point, Hermione kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs out along the length of the couch, subconsciously sliding her toes under Malfoy’s thigh.

    His head snapped up in alarm, and Hermione quickly realized what she had done. She immediately drew her feet back under her, and mumbled an apologetic half explanation. “Umm, sorry. I just— forgot….not Harry. Sorry.” she grimaced and buried her nose in her book, trying to hide her embarrassment. 

They didn’t touch again.

xXxXxXx

After about an hour Hermione heard Malfoy begin to stretch on the other end of the couch. She put her book down and unfolded her legs from underneath her, feeling the blood rush down to her toes. 

Realizing she was very thirsty, she walked over to the little table and sat down, heating the now cold tea with her wand. Malfoy joined her at the table, reheating his own cup. They sat silently for a few moments before Malfoy set his tea down and asked Hermione what she was going to do over the summer.

“Well, when I leave here, I’ll head to my parents’ for a week. After that I’ll spend the rest of the summer at the Burrow. Ron’s brother Bill is getting married, and… Oh I’m sure this isn't interesting to you at all.” She waved off the rest of her explanation. 

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know, Granger.” he paused, and let the silence ring clear. He had been taught from an early age that silence made others uncomfortable, and they would often continue talking just to fill it. So he waited. 

“Well, you remember Fleur Delacour? From the Tri-Wizard Tournament? She was the Beauxbaton champion.” 

He had been right, and inwardly smiled. The Gryffindor Princess clearly didn't know the ins and outs of sly conversation.

“Yes, the one who was part Veela?”  

“Oh, of  _ course _ you remember her” Hermione scoffed, and rolled her eyes. Boys and those damn Veelas. “Well, she and Bill have decided to have their wedding at the Burrow, and Mrs Weasley has requested all hands on deck, so to say. She wants everything to be perfect. Besides, Harry, Ron, and I have plans— ” Realizing she may have said too much, she cleared her throat, and instead turned the question to Malfoy. 

“What are your plans, Malfoy?” 

“Seriously, Granger?” 

“Wha— oh…” She suddenly felt very guilty for asking. 

“Yeah, my summer hols will be filled with loads of fun family time; including, but not limited to, bowing before the Dark Lord, torturing innocent people, and doing whatever the hell sadistic thing he bids us.” His voice was dry and thick with disgust. 

Without thinking about it, Hermione reached out and placed her hand over his, in a comforting way. He looked up at her, and she could see the self-loathing and hatred in his eyes. Her heart broke for the boy in front of her. 

“Malfoy, why don’t you just stay? Why not just leave and stay with the Order? I could help you come up with a plan to get your mother out, then you’d never have to go back.” 

“I can’t leave Granger. I’d never be accepted as a full member of the Order. It’s just better this way.” Malfoy was looking down in his lap, so Hermione squeezed his hand, bringing his attention back to her. 

“We can figure it out, Malfoy,” she insisted. 

“There’s nothing to figure out! I can’t leave!” He yanked his hand from hers, pushed his chair back, and violently pulled up his sleeve, revealing the snake and skull of the Dark Mark. His expression was bitter and full of revulsion, and Hermione knew she couldn’t react the way he was expecting her to. 

She stood up, walked around the table, and knelt in front of him. Gently taking his arm in her hands, she placed her palm over the mark, covering it.

“Don’t touch it, Granger, you’re too—” 

Cutting him off, Hermione looked into his eyes. “Shhh. This doesn’t define you. This isn’t who you are.” 

He tried to look away, but she lifted her hand to his face, and gently turned his head back to her. “This isn’t what you are, Draco. Have you forgotten which side you’re really fighting for?” Hearing her use his first name seemed to break through his resolve a bit. 

“I’ve done terrible things; things I can’t take back.” His voice was so pained that Hermione felt tears stinging in her eyes, threatening to fall. “Do you know what I had to do to get this,  _ this thing _ ? I had to kill someone. I had to kill an innocent person. I had to go into the cells and pick some Muggle and just...kill them.” His eyes closed, unable to look at her anymore. 

“You did what you had to do. You and I both know that the people in those cells aren’t going to make it out of there alive. If you didn’t do it, someone else would have, and you would have been punished or killed for your disobedience. You did what you had to do to survive.” Her voice was gentle, but firm. He needed to know that it wasn’t his fault. 

After a moment of silence, and so quiet she almost didn’t hear him, he whispered, “You can’t save me, Granger.” 

Closing her eyes, and lowering her face down until her forehead was resting on his knee, she inhaled deeply. “I don’t think you need saving. You just need a light, to reach the shore.” 

They stayed like that for longer than either realized, and eventually, when Hermione sat back on her heels and stood up, the sudden absence of touch was profound.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Granger?”

Hermione had turned toward the couch near the fire, and had a small smile as she answered him. “Because, Malfoy, you and I aren’t really all that different. We are both in situations we didn’t exactly choose for ourselves, and we don’t really have a lot of people who can relate to us. I’d say everyone who can relate to me, at least in regards to a secret life, is in this room, right now.” She chuckled dryly as she reached the couch, picking up her book, and sitting down. 

“So what, you just want to be friends then? Just like that?” 

“I’d say we are halfway there already, wouldn’t you?” 

Malfoy seemed to contemplate that for a moment, and then he too stood, and walked to the couch. 

“I’d say we’ve made it a little over halfway, Granger.” 

He picked up his book and sat opposite Hermione, opening it, but still looking at her. 

“Three quarters?” she asked. 

“That sounds about right.” 

Smiling to herself, Hermione opened  _ Hogwarts, A History _ . They read in a pleasant silence, each feeling a little lighter of heart than when the day began. 

xXxXxXx

Hermione had completely lost track of time until she felt the pains of sitting in one spot for too long, and needed to stretch her legs. She began to shift them to her side, down the length of the couch, when she remembered Malfoy was over there. She hesitated for a moment, then  grinned to herself and tucked her toes right up under his thigh, smiling mischievously, knowing it would probably confuse and disgust him to no end. When he looked over at her, she was expecting the shocked look he had given her earlier that morning, but instead was surprised to see him smirking back at her. 

“Is this part of our friendship deal? Or is this just another weird Gryffindor habit, like hugging?” He sounded repulsed by the idea of hugging, and Hermione laughed. 

“Draco, you know Hufflepuffs hug too, right? And Ravenclaws? Actually, Slytherins are the only ones who  _ don’t _ hug.” 

“One, hugging is strange and unnatural—”

“For Slytherins!” 

“And two, you called me Draco.” 

Hermione hadn’t realized that slip, but she tried to play it off as purposeful. 

“Well, we  _ are _ friends now.” She playfully smiled at him, and he raised his eyebrows back at her. 

“What? Three quarters friends counts as friends!” 

Draco shook his head and rolled his eyes at her, deciding to just ignore it all— including the frigid toes under his thigh— and continued reading. 

Hermione quietly laughed, and returned to her book as well. They both continued reading, until Hermione looked up again a while later, and realized that it was dark outside the little window in the room. She wasn’t actually sure if the window was a real window or one that was just charmed to show the castle grounds, but either way, night had fallen and neither of them had realized it. 

“Uhh, Malfoy?” Hermione wiggled her toes underneath him until he looked at her. 

“Which is it now,  _ Hermione, Granger _ ? Am I Malfoy, or Draco?” He teased.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you were aware. Your name happens to be  _ Draco Malfoy _ , so people often call you one of those two monikers to get your attention. Although, I have heard a few other… choice words that some of the student body prefers to use.” 

Draco very dramatically rolled his eyes, and Hermione had to hold back her laugh. “Thank you for that lovely sarcasm, Granger. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“ _ Anyway,  _ it umm... it appears to be evening now…” She trailed off, not sure what else to say. Neither of them had anywhere to be since classes were out, their houses empty, and literally only a handful of staff members left in the castle, but it seemed weird to expect to just stay there together for so long. 

“Oh, did you have plans then?” Mocking her, he raised his eyebrows and did a funny side twitch thing with his lips, which had her bursting with laughter. 

“No, I just meant— I’m not sure, actually. It’s just, well what are we going to do?” She had meant that as innocently as possible, but once it left her lips she realized it could possibly be construed  _ other _ ways, and she immediately flushed red with embarrassment. 

“I didn’t mean! I just meant—,  that wasn’t— ” she stammered, unable to convey what she had  _ actually _ meant. 

“Salazar, Granger. Relax.” He chuckled, and stood up, silent for a moment. Then he asked, “How good are you at Glamours?” 

“What?” 

“Would you like me to spell it out?” 

“Why do we need Glamours?” She was puzzled at the sudden change of direction the conversation had taken. 

“Well, I think the house elves are officially off for the hols, as we have had no food appear for dinner, which means we are on our own. So, Hogsmeade?” 

“That— actually sounds really good. I could use a change of scenery.” 

Hermione stood to join Draco, and pulled out her wand. 

“Alright you, what are we going for? Rockstar? Azkaban escapee?” 

“What? Granger, no. We are trying to blend in here. Can't be seen together, remember?” He seemed alarmed at her suggestion, and she had to laugh at him. 

“I’m kidding Draco! Merlin, lighten up.”

Hermione looked at him for a moment, before waving her wand and whispering  _ Falsum Habitum,  _ and watching his features change, just enough so that if you weren’t close with him, you wouldn’t recognize who he was. 

Without looking at himself, he pulled his own wand out, “Alright, your turn.” The process was quick, and Hermione didn’t feel different at all. When Harry performed that spell, she was often left with a mild tingling sensation.

They had agreed robes off would be best, to further conceal their identities, and together they headed for the door. Hermione and Draco stopped at the mirror on the way, and both peered at their reflections. 

Draco’s hair and eyes were now a warm chestnut brown, his skin a shade darker than the alabaster white it usually was. Hermione on the other hand had fair skin, blue eyes, and light blonde hair.

She giggled, realizing that they had, essentially, switched appearances. 

Draco made a scoffing noise at their reflection, and turned to Hermione, holding out his wand. He quickly transfigured her clothes, and when he moved out of her line of sight, Hermione’s jaw dropped a little.

“Well we clearly have to dress similarly, Granger,” he explained. “Even a disguised me cannot be seen with someone wearing Muggle clothes like  _ that _ .” 

Hermione was now in a black, knee length, A-line dress, with a plunging, yet still somehow fairly modest, neckline. It was very 1940’s reminiscent, and she was surprised at how much she liked it. 

“Draco, I—, I actually like this, how did you— ?” 

Cutting her off, “You have seen my mother, Granger. Is it any surprise that I would have an eye for this sort of thing?” 

_ Rhetorical question, _ she thought. Rather than answering, Hermione looked down at her shoes, her plain black Converse, and transfigured them into black, low heeled Mary-Janes. 

Glancing in the mirror again, she noted that they made quite a pair, and looked altogether charming, if not a little old fashioned. Then again, most of the older pureblood families dressed this way, so they likely wouldn’t stand out in the slightest. 

“Shall we?” Draco held his arm out for her, and she laced hers through the crook in his elbow, as the duo made their way into the castle, and then out onto the grounds, towards Hogsmeade. 

xXxXxXx

When they walked through the doors of the Three Broomsticks, Hermione was relieved that it was packed. More people would see them, yes, but less would  _ notice _ them. They could easily blend into the crowd here, and that was good. 

Draco ended up ordering for the both of them; beef stew with bread, and butterbeers. Hermione felt both pleased and a smidge put off that he had ordered for her without even asking. The feminist in her was screaming, but it was also nice to let someone else have the reins, even for just a moment. 

Hermione felt awkward dressed as she was, but decided to try and go with it. She crossed her legs, and turned in her chair, facing the room and simply watched the other patrons. 

Draco watched her watch others for three whole minutes, before he demanded her attention. 

“So, what does Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, do in her free time?” He sipped his butterbeer, and looked far too at ease for Hermione’s liking.

She let out a small laugh, and turned back towards him. 

“Free time? You mean in between fighting Basilisk’s, Dementors, giant spiders,  _ and _ making sure Harry and Ron get passable marks?” 

“Oh come on Granger, I’m being serious. What do you do when you  _ aren’t _ doing all of that?” She was surprised to see genuine curiosity in his eyes, and took a moment to think of her answer. 

“I suppose reading wouldn’t be the answer you are looking for?” she chuckled, and when he shook his head, she added, “Then I guess I listen to music.  _ Muggle _ music.” She smirked at him, expecting him to have some aversion to that answer. 

When he instead simply cocked an eyebrow, Hermione really started to believe, deep down, that this was the true Draco Malfoy. Not some prejudiced, pureblood brat, not someone who was simply playing at doing the right thing, but an honest to Godric, deep down, good guy. 

She laughed out loud at that revelation, because who would have thought that all it would take for her to finally believe he was who he said, was him  _ not _ being disgusted or otherwise displeased with her enjoyment of Muggle music. 

“Something funny, Granger?” 

“No, no. Just ignore me.” Still smiling, Hermione brought her glass to her mouth and tried to straighten her face. 

“What about you, Malfoy? What do you do in  _ your _ free time?” 

“Oh, you mean in-between being a Death Eater, a spy, an exceptional student, and an arsehole? Well, it might surprise you, but I also read a lot, I fly, and, more often than not, I drink.” It looked like he was almost embarrassed to admit that, and Hermione wasn’t sure why. 

“Not  _ while _ you’re flying, I hope?” she raised her eyebrows.

“Reading or drinking?” He was smirking now. 

“Both!” 

“I would  _ never _ read, drink and fly Granger! You’re positively mad for suggesting such a thing.” He was feigning shock, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. 

She looked out at the rest of the room for a moment, then back at Malfoy and asked, “What do you drink?” 

“Firewhisky, mostly. But once in awhile Dragon Barrel Brandy.” 

Their soup arrived at that moment, and both were silent for a bit while they ate, or, in Hermione’s case, picked at, their food. Eventually though, Malfoy filled the silence between them. 

“Drinking takes the edge away from— well, everything. It’s not so bad at school, but when I’m at the Manor, doing  _ his _ bidding, I’m pissed more nights than I’m not.” 

“I think I would be, too.” She admitted quietly, surprised at the sudden candor he was giving her. 

“Do you drink, Granger? I have a feeling you would make a rather interesting drunk.”

“Not often.” Hermione had been drunk only a few times, and didn’t want to admit she rather liked the feeling. Carefree was not something she was used to feeling, and sometimes, she just craved that. Simplicity. Letting go.  _ Fun. _

Raising his eyebrows at her, Draco silently questioned if she was finished, before laying some galleons on the table. When Hermione tried to reach into her bag to pay her half, he looked at her with indignation before standing and stating, “You’re hilarious, Granger. Let’s go.” 

He again offered her his arm, for appearances she assumed, and they walked together back to the castle in silence. Hermione was looking across the grounds when she felt the familiar prodding from the smoky tendrils of Draco’s mind, searching for a way in. She smiled to herself, knowing that she had her barriers up, but quickly double checked their strength, just to be sure. 

After a few minutes of his intense searching for a way in and finding none, Hermione turned her head to him, grinning. She was surprised, but pleased, to find him grinning back at her, obviously at least a bit proud that she had been on her toes, and kept him out.

Once they made it inside the castle, Draco paused, suddenly seeming unsure. Hermione was confused until he gently dropped her arm, and cleared his throat. 

“I suppose I will see you in the morning then.” 

“Oh, right, I guess it is getting late. Okay, I will see you in the morning, Malfoy.” she paused, a smile crossing her face, “Thank you for dinner. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Hermione.” He turned on his heel and headed towards the dungeons, while Hermione made her way up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, thinking that she rather liked it when he called her by her first name, instead of ‘Granger.’

She had gone up to her dormitory, changed for bed, and grabbed a book, before heading back down to the common room and settling in front of the fire. 

Hermione sat on the couch staring at the pages of the book in her lap for a few minutes, before she stood and paced in front of the fire. She had often thought about how lovely it would be to have the common room completely to herself and quiet, with no interruptions, or noises from other students. She had dreamed about it, and some nights begged Merlin himself for that kind of quiet. 

However, now that she had exactly that, it was rather unsettling. She couldn’t focus enough on her book to get any enjoyment out of reading, so after turning and warming her backside by the flames, she wandered back up to her dormitory and crawled into bed.  

The silence was deafening, and Hermione couldn’t help but think of her parents, and of Rodolphus. Nature vs. Nurture. She was making a list in her head, of the ways she was surely like her parents, and the ways she was so different from them. 

She couldn’t understand why this was haunting her so much; why she couldn’t just let it go. Richard and Helen Granger raised her and loved her, they were truly her parents. So why did she feel so distanced from them with this revelation? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about the woman who gave birth to her, and..and  _ him _ ? How could one piece of information make her feel like a completely different person? 

Closing her eyes, Hermione tried to let sleep take her, but it was nearly an hour later when she finally dozed off. 

xXxXxXx

She awoke on the tail end of a scream, sticky with sweat, and shaking in panic. The details of her dream —  _ nightmare —  _ were hazy, but the fear she felt was strong. She had seen Rodolphus and Bellatrix torture Neville’s parents, maim Muggles simply because they liked to, and kill the woman who had given birth to her. Those things had been absolutely awful, but the part that scared her the most was that in her dream, while she watched them do those terrible, horrendous things, she had  _ enjoyed _ it. She had felt the thrill of the kills, the joy they exuded, as they did these dreadful things. 

And now she hated herself for that. 

She was disgusted, and scared. 

Hermione threw her covers back, unable to stay in her bed, and grabbed for her wand, casting a  _ Lumos _ and heading down to the common room. 

Once she was there however, she realized that she couldn’t stay there alone. It was just too big, and empty. She briefly thought about going up to the boys’ rooms, but they were exactly the same as her own without Harry there. She would often slip silently up to the boys’ room after a nightmare and seek out Harry’s bed, knowing that just being next to him would calm her mind so she could sleep. She desperately wished for the solace she had come to rely on from her best friend and Hermione felt lost without him. She needed to get out, and she only knew of one place to go.  

She nearly ran toward the Room of Requirement, and was relieved as the door appeared. She entered the familiar space, and was greeted with a barely lit dungeon common room, warmed by the glowing fire. 

She sighed heavily as she walked towards the couch grabbing the blanket off the back. Hermione curled up underneath it, and faintly smiled when she noticed the book on the side table. 

Opening the pages of  _ Beauty and the Beast _ , Hermione began to read. It was only a matter of minutes before sleep had overtaken her, the book lay pressed against her chest. 

xXxXxXx


	8. Y-Fronts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
> Super shoutout to the best Beta ever!: Dreamingofstars85
> 
> Early chapter this week, because I just love this one so much, and I have no patience. Enjoy!

 

**Y-Fronts**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

It hadn’t surprised him to walk into a replica of the dungeons that morning, or even that it had been warm in the room, since he was now used to asking for a real fire because Hermione got so cold if there wasn't one. No, what surprised him was that when he walked into the room, there was a lump on the couch, with familiar brown curls cascading out from under the blankets.

Draco moved silently towards the couch, then just stood in front of it, looking at the lump for a moment. He wasn’t actually sure what to do. 

It was half past six in the morning, and he obviously hadn’t expected her to have arrived yet, however it looked like she had slept right there on the sofa all night. In the bloody Room of Requirement looking like— of all places she could choose— the Slytherin common room. _Odd_. 

Draco had seen the dark circles under her eyes the past two weeks, and knew from their brief conversations  _ not _ concerning Occlumency, that she didn’t sleep well. He noticed the book that she had apparently been reading on the floor, and picked it up. She must have fallen asleep reading it, because the pages were a little bent, and there was no way Hermione Granger was a page bender. She would most certainly not defile a book that way. 

Quietly chuckling at that thought, he walked to the other end of the couch, and sat down. 

_ Beauty and the Beast _ . Curious, he opened the pages, and began reading. 

 

xXxXxXx

 

Morning light was coming through the window of the room when Hermione blinked open her eyes, yawning, and stretched her sore muscles. Pushing herself to a sitting position, she began to raise her arms above her head to further stretch them, then screamed, nearly falling onto the floor when she noticed a figure sitting on the other end of the couch. 

Placing a hand over her now rapidly beating heart, while the other was clapped over her mouth, Hermione waited for her body to catch up to her brain, and signal the fight or flight response to stop. After just a moment, she reached out and slapped Malfoy’s knee.

“Malfoy! What are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death!” 

“You’re the one who was sleeping here Granger. I should be asking  _ you _ that question.” He hadn’t even looked up from the book he was reading, the git. 

“Is that— are you reading  _ Beauty and the Beast, _ Malfoy?”

“Are you asking if I am reading the book in my hands? The one my eyes are currently scanning the pages of?” He still wasn’t looking at her, and his voice sounded bored. 

“Oh for Godric’s sake, Malfoy, I just bloody woke up, give me a break!” She snapped, and he finally, slowly, turned his head to look at her. 

“Cheery in the morning, aren’t you?” 

“Sod off, Malfoy.” 

Hermione rubbed her eyes, and then ran her hands down her face. She may have gotten a straight, dreamless stretch of sleep in this room, but she had to admit that she was no longer young enough to find sleeping on a couch pleasant. And being too old for something, at just nearly 18, was a bit disheartening. 

“Care to tell me why you are in here, Granger?” He had put the book down, and was giving her his full attention. Hermione suddenly felt a bit self conscious. She was sure her hair was,  _ at best _ , wild, and her face was probably splotchy from sleep.

Looking down and fidgeting her hands in her lap, she suddenly remembered she was wearing her pajamas, and thanked the gods that she had worn probably the least embarrassing pair she had. Just a pair of black yoga pants, and a quidditch jersey that Harry had outgrown. She and Ginny had both snagged a couple of Harry’s too small jerseys a year or two before when he’d had a massive growth spurt.

She wasn’t sure what exactly to tell him, and in her morning sleep fog, she ended up going with the truth. 

“I, umm… I had a nightmare, and couldn’t stay in Gryffindor Tower alone. It’s just too big and quiet, with everyone gone.” 

Draco didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he did, his voice was quiet. 

“Do you get those a lot? Nightmares?”

“Sometimes. And after everything that happened last year...well, a little more often after that.” She subconsciously rubbed the scar on her abdomen. 

“Yeah, I get them too.” 

A silence fell between the two, neither sure what else to say. When Hermione noticed the book in his lap, she smiled, and pointed at it. 

“Have you read that before?” 

“I’d never even heard of it before, so no. It’s a bit depressing. Why has he locked her up?” he asked. She smiled, exhaling a brief chuckle before answering.

“Well, he wants someone to break his curse, and he’s lonely. It’s actually one of my favorite books.” Reaching over, Hermione picked up the novel, and looked at the cover, gently grazing it with her hand. “It doesn’t matter what you look like, It’s the inside that counts. The real beast is not outside, but within; there is beauty  _ in _ the beast, if you can make it past his appearance, past the walls he puts up, and past who he pretends to be.” 

Draco didn’t ask any more questions about the book after that. Hermione would have bet all her galleons that he was comparing himself to Beast. 

“I’m going to go shower and change.” 

“Alright, I will head down to the kitchens and see if there are any House Elves left who can put together a breakfast tray.  _ Salazar _ let there still be some in the kitchens.” 

Hermione shook her head at him, then stood and turned toward the door, leaving Draco on the couch to wonder why wizarding fashion couldn’t take a few pages from muggles. He would have to be dead not to appreciate pants like that, no matter who was wearing them. 

“About an hour?” she asked as she got to the door. 

Draco cleared his throat and agreed, watching her walk out of the room. He took just a moment to catalogue those pants in his memory, and then stood and headed toward the kitchens. 

 

xXxXxXx

 

Freshly showered, and dressed in jeans and a faded Beatles tee, Hermione walked back through the door to the Room of Requirement exactly forty minutes later. Draco was already back, sitting at the little table reading  _ Beauty and the Beast _ again. He had waited for her to eat, apparently successful in acquiring food, and she smiled. 

They ate mostly in silence again, aside from a few brief comments about the weather, or how strange it was to be in the castle when everyone was gone. Once they were finished, they moved back to the couch, and sat. 

“Alright, Granger. Yesterday proved that you are quite prepared as far as Occluding your mind goes. You should still practice, as often as you can, but I have no doubt that you will be able to hold off an attack for the most part.” 

“Does that mean we are heading home today?” 

“Tomorrow. Today we are going to practice one last time. I need to know you can keep your barriers up even when mentally you may be…distracted or otherwise indisposed.” 

“What does that even mean, Malfoy?  _ Otherwise indisposed? _ ” Hermione was at a loss to his meaning. 

“We just have to cover all the bases, Hermione.” Sighing, Draco stood and headed toward the other end of the room, and opened a cupboard there. He grabbed something, and was halfway back to Hermione before she saw what was in his hands. 

“Is that  _ alcohol _ ?” Curious, she crossed her arms. “Why would I drink that?” 

“I searched for a potion opposite of a Pepper Up, something to dull your senses, but there isn’t one. I’m sure you are well aware that the effects of alcohol include poor judgment and temporarily deteriorated brain function. That is  _ exactly _ the circumstances we need to test your occlumency under.” 

Rolling her eyes, but finding no argument with his reasoning, Hermione reached for one of the glasses he held. 

“If  _ I _ am the one who is being tested, why did you bring  _ two _ glasses?” 

“There is no reason for me not to enjoy a glass or two of one hundred year old Firewhisky.” 

“Oh Merlin, of course you would have the most expensive alcohol possible.” She shook her head and held out her glass. He filled it halfway. 

“Hermione, I’m a Malfoy, everything we own is expensive. Alcohol is no different. This isn’t even the  _ good _ stuff. I grabbed the least expensive bottle I had.” He filled his own glass and set the bottle down on the floor next to the couch. 

“I’m not even going to ask about why you have so much expensive alcohol at school, or how you smuggled it in here. I  _ am,  _ however, choosing to be a bit offended that you decided I was only good enough for your least expensive bottle.” Teasing Malfoy was something she still wasn’t completely used to, but it made her smile nonetheless. 

Raising her glass and lifting her eyebrows, Hermione waited until Draco raised his as well, and then she gently clinked their cups, muttering a cheers before bringing the glass to her lips and taking a drink. 

When the liquid slid warm down her throat, Hermione looked up at Draco and grinned. 

“Wow. Expensive goes down a lot easier than cheap does.” She laughed when he dramatically rolled his eyes and sipped his own drink. 

“I didn’t peg you as a drinker, though it does not surprise me the only thing you have had is cheap. Weasel doesn’t splurge on the good stuff then?” 

“I haven’t ever drank with Ron, so I wouldn’t know, actually.” 

“Potty?” 

Smirking at his evident curiosity, Hermione said nothing, and continued drinking. 

“Fine, don’t tell me then. It’s not pertinent information.” Irritated, he paused, and then, “Finish that drink, Granger. We need to get started.” 

Hermione sighed, plugged her nose, and then tipped the glass back, swallowing the rest of its contents. When she released her nose, she shuddered at the sudden overpowering flavor in her mouth, and let out a small disgusted noise. Malfoy laughed. 

“It may be better than the cheap stuff, but I still don’t  _ like _ it. I much prefer muggle beer, actually.” Hermione held out her glass, and Draco filled it halfway again, smirking at her. 

A few sips from finishing her second glass, Hermione felt the familiar pangs of Draco’s mind reaching into hers. She quickly checked her barriers, and was relieved to realize that they still held strong. Finishing her drink, Hermione stood, already slightly wobbly, and walked to stand in front of the fire, warming her palms. 

“I’ve actually only ever drank with muggles before,” she admitted. “They play a lot of silly drinking games, and you end up very inebriated, very quickly.” She giggled a little, remembering a time last summer with her cousin, and a game called ‘ _ Never Have I Ever,’ _ or something like that. She had learned quite a lot more about her cousin than she had bargained for.

“Wizards have drinking games as well,” he said flatly. She could still feel the smoky tendrils poking around the outskirts of her mind, but so far none were making any progress. She smiled to herself, happy to be holding her own. 

“I didn’t peg you for a drinking games type of person, Malfoy.” 

“And  _ I _ didn’t say that I played them, just that they exist.” 

“Well, do you at least know how to play some of them?” She was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol now, and for some reason she really wanted to play a game. 

“Of course I do.” Hermione jumped when Malfoy’s voice came from right next to her. She hadn’t realized that he had moved toward her. He held out her glass which had been refilled, and Hermione took it, taking a sip. 

“Alright, then,” she turned to face him, “let's play!” 

“You, Hermione, are a lightweight. We are not playing games. The purpose here is to properly practice your Occlumency for the last time before the summer hols. ”  

“You are less fun right now than repotting Mandrakes, Malfoy.” Hermione huffed, but walked over to the couch and sat down. 

“You do remember why we are here, right? If  _ you _ can’t properly occlude your mind, then it’s  _ my  _ secrets getting spilled, and  _ my _ life being ended.” 

“Oh for Godric’s sake Malfoy, of course I remember that! Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“Granger, did you seriously just—” shaking his head, he looked at her and smirked. “Thinking about my briefs then, are you?” 

“Malfoy! What?! No!” Hermione felt the buzz of her drinks swirling in her mind, and while a part of her realized this had somehow become a  _ very _ disturbing conversation to have with Malfoy, the other, much larger part, didn’t care.

“Are you teasing me, Draco?”

“Obviously,” he drawled, still smirking at her.

“Ugh, Malfoy, you know you sound like Professor Snape when you say that? It’s really quite disturbing.”

Hermione was taking another sip when she again felt the pressure against the barriers in her mind. She immediately felt that they weren’t as sturdy as they should be. They were still in tact, but she didn’t trust they would stay that way. 

Closing her eyes and focusing hard within her mind, she imagined a second line of defense, and ran  _ another _ block around her memories, right behind the first. She didn’t know she could do that. Sighing, Hermione opened her eyes and found Draco staring at her. 

“What did you do Granger?” 

“What? I don’t know, you were about to get through—”

“Yeah, I know, but I didn’t. Something blocked me,  _ you _ blocked me. And you’re bloody well near pissed. How did you do that?” 

Confused, Hermione shrugged her shoulders, “I just created a second barrier.” It hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal when she did it, but Malfoy’s reaction had her second guessing that. 

“You— you’re telling me you just made a  _ second _ barrier? You can’t have, because I would have been able to get in for a moment, when it was down—”

“No, no Malfoy, no. I mean I put up  _ two _ barriers. Not let one down, put one up. Just plain old put another up, right behind the first.” 

“Hermione, that isn’t— you shouldn’t be able to do that. You—“

Hermione stood up and put her arms out, wobbling for a moment before regaining her balance. “Draco, honestly. I— can we  _ not _ , right now? As you so eloquently pointed out, I’m nearly pissed, and I clearly just proved myself, passed your, um— test? I don’t know, I’m just done using my brain for tonight Malfoy. Ask me in the morning.” She waved him off and walked toward the bookshelf. 

Draco watched her browse the books, and tried to figure out how she had done that. She  _ shouldn’t  _ have been able to do that. He had only read one instance of something like that happening, and it was a second hand account. He wondered exactly what she had done. And how in Salazar’s name she had suddenly become so good at Occlumency. He’d known it was likely she would eventually be a better Occlumens than he was, because honestly, she was better than everyone, at everything; He just hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

Rolling his eyes at that thought, he decided he needed to find that bit in his book and reread it. Hermione’s voice quietly interrupted his thoughts, though it was so soft he almost didn’t hear her.

“Malfoy…You’re not the Beast, you know.”

After a moment of silence, he put his hand to his temple. “And you’re not here to save me,” he whispered. 

Watching as she reached for a book near the top shelf, he noticed she wobbled slightly, showing how much the alcohol was really affecting her. Hermione grabbed the bookshelf to steady herself, not seeing Draco take a few steps toward her holding his arm out, just in case she fell. When she straightened herself out on her own, he backed up quietly.  

Once she had the book in her hand, Hermione turned around, surprised to see Draco watching her. She smiled at him, holding up the book, “Got it,” and walked past him to sit down.

“Barely,” he smirked, following her, and grabbing his own book on the way. 

Hermione turned to sit on the couch, and ended up nearly falling, only just catching herself from landing on her arse. 

“Whoops!” she giggled, widening her eyes and letting her head loll to the side a little. 

“How ya feeling there, Granger?” Draco smirked and made a face at her. 

“Draco I’m— I’m drunk!” she laughed, watching him sit down way too gracefully.  _ How can everything he does look so damn perfect?  _

“Clearly,” he drawled. 

She continued giggling, but opened her book. They read in relative silence for a while, only interrupted by Hermione’s intermittent giggles and gasps as she reacted to what she read. 

Draco continued to occasionally check if her mind was Occluded, and each time he was pleased that he could find no way in. She really had become excellent at keeping her thoughts locked away. 

Glancing up from her book, Hermione felt the room begin to spin at the sudden movement. She exhaled loudly, blinking her eyes before opening them widely, willing the objects in front of her to stop moving of their own accord.

When she realized that was largely ineffective, she tossed her book onto the ground and let herself fall sideways on the couch.

It had surprised her when her head landed on Draco’s thigh, but she was already laying down and honestly, she wasn’t sure she could sit up on her own again. Instead, she curled her legs up and got comfortable, too drunk to care. When he made no move to hex her off of him, she closed her eyes and lay still for a moment. 

Draco wasn’t exactly sure what was going on when the witch laid her head on his leg like a bloody lap dog, but he couldn’t say he was entirely put off by it either. He glanced down at her, noting that her eyes were closed. When they remained so, he took a moment to simply look at her. Her hair ran wild across his lap, and he was resisting the urge to slide his fingers through the curls. 

_ They would probably get stuck, anyways _ , he thought, rolling his eyes at himself. 

She lay silent for a few moments, and then inhaled deeply, bringing her hand up to rest on his knee, making circles with her fingers as she spoke. 

“How am I going to face my parents, now that I know it’s all a lie?” 

Even through the quiet slur of her words, he could hear her voice shaking slightly. Draco sighed and put his book aside, looking down at her. 

“I don’t know if this makes it better, or worse, but they probably don’t know it’s a lie. Any of it. My guess is they were Obliviated or had their memories otherwise altered, so they thought you really were—  _ are,  _ theirs.” 

He saw a tear roll down her cheek. 

“They do love you, Hermione. That is something magic cannot make you do, not long term anyways. Every experience you’ve had with them, every moment,  _ that _ was real.” 

When her breath hitched, Draco smoothed his hand over her hair and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, wishing he could ease some of her pain. Eventually her tears stopped, and her breathing slowed with sleep. Draco gently lifted her head from his lap and stood up. He covered her with the blanket, and brought his book to the chair across from the couch. 

He read, and just watched her for a time, until his eyelids grew heavy. Knowing there was no way to keep tomorrow from coming, he closed his eyes, and hoped for one more sleep without nightmares, before he had to return to the lion’s den.  

 

xXxXxXx

 

The room was bright as Hermione opened her eyes the next day. She looked down the length of the couch to see Malfoy, already awake, and reading  _ Beauty and the Beast  _ again. She smiled to herself, and then yawned as she sat up. 

She immediately regretted that action. 

Her head began pounding, and her stomach felt so, so wrong. Nauseous didn’t even begin to describe the misery her body was in. Groaning, she began rubbing her temples. 

“You sleep in that late, and still wake up hungover?” Draco’s voice was like nails into her skull and she winced at the volume. 

“Let’s just whisper today, please.” she begged.

Laughing quietly, Malfoy stood up and walked over to Hermione, holding something out to her. She looked up at him, and saw a potion vial in his hand, with the familiar green of a Sober-Up inside. 

“Oh you beautiful, wonderful man.” She whispered as she took the vile, uncorked it, and downed the thick potion within. Laughing, Malfoy took the empty vial back, and walked over to the little table where Hermione saw an array of breakfast items. 

“Merlin, did you know muggles have to suffer through hangovers with no potions?” She asked him, already feeling the effects begin to kick in. 

“That is— actually ghastly. I truly feel sorry for them.” He chuckled, and walked back to Hermione, handing her a small bowl of fruit and a piece of toast topped with jam.

Thanking him, Hermione tucked her legs underneath herself, while Draco sat down on the couch. She ate the breakfast in silence, while he resumed reading the book. When she was finished, she turned to him. 

“Home today.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement. 

Draco nodded but didn’t say anything. Hermione knew he was dreading his return to Malfoy Manor, and his Death Eater duties. 

“Are they going to make you… participate more, since you will be at home?” 

“I will be expected to pull my weight, and prove my worth as his protégé, yes.” 

Draco had closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples, and Hermione felt a pang of worry for him. How would he manage the entire summer, with no one to actually  _ talk _ to, and having to do Merlin knows what in order to keep his cover? 

“I wish you wouldn’t go back—” 

“We’ve been over this, Granger. I have to go back. My service to the Order depends on my position as a Death Eater. Otherwise, I am useless. Everything I have done up to this point will have been meaningless, and I can't live with that.” 

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes, and she knew he was right. Over the past couple of weeks she had learned a lot about this boy sitting in front of her. O _ h gods, has it only been two weeks? _ How did it feel like so much longer? Shaking her head, she suddenly had an idea. 

   Jumping up and nearly knocking her breakfast dish over, she grabbed her wand and turned to Draco. 

“You said Professor McGonagall was Apparating me back to my parents house, right? What time?” she hurriedly asked him. 

   Confused, Draco raised a brow and spoke, “You’re to be in her office at eleven.” 

   Hermione cast a quick  _ Tempus _ and then yelped. “It’s half past ten, Draco!” 

   “Yes— you slept half the day away…” he was still confused as to what she was suddenly going on about. 

   “You should have woken me!” she shouted over her shoulder at him as she ran for the door and left the room.

   “What. The. Fuck.” Draco whispered to himself, as he watched the door slam behind her. He had absolutely no clue what she was doing. He sipped his tea, and kept an eye on the door, waiting for her to come back. 

 

xXxXxXx

 

Exactly 18 minutes later, Hermione returned. She had burst through the door, and dropped something on the table before hurrying over to sit on the couch by Draco. 

“What are you on about, Hermione?” 

“Shhhh!” she held her fist out to him, and Draco realized she was gripping something there. He put his hand out palm up, and she dropped something into it. 

He looked at the object for a moment, confused. It was a Galleon, strung on a long, thin chain.  He looked up at the witch in front of him, eyebrow raised.

“You do realize I have quite a few of these— ”

Cutting him off, Hermione held up one finger and touched it to his lips, shocking him into silence.

“You don’t have any like  _ this _ , Draco. I’ve charmed it. We used something similar last year, but I modified it just a little.” Reaching into the top of her shirt, Hermione pulled out a matching Galleon, also strung on a little chain. 

She tapped it with her wand, and when she did, Draco felt the replica in his hand begin to warm up. He looked down at it, and saw two letters. 

_ HI _

Perplexed, he looked back up at her. She was now grinning ear to ear, obviously very pleased with whatever she had done. 

“I’m not following you here, Granger. You’ve given me a Galleon charmed to say  _ hello _ , for what, when I’m feeling lonely?” 

“It’s a fake Galleon actually, and they are twins. I’ve charmed them both, exactly the same. Like a walkie-talkie!” 

When he only raised his eyebrows further, Hermione laid her face in her palm, and sighed. “You don’t know what a walkie-talkie is. Ugh.” She looked up at him again, “It’s like a two way radio, Draco, without sound. You can send a message to its twin, from anywhere, anytime.” 

“I don’t—” he was actually speechless for a moment. 

“For one, you can use it if you have anything you need to tell the Order. But I also thought, well, that it might be nice for you to at least have someone who you could talk to, if you needed— I know you haven’t got anyone, especially when you’re at home, and…”

Not really sure what else to say, and suddenly feeling anxious in his silence, Hermione bit her lip and dropped her hands to her lap. He didn’t say anything for several moments, and when he did, his voice was low and strained. 

“Why are you so good at taking care of everyone else, but so bad at taking care of yourself?” 

That hadn’t been what she was expecting at all. 

“Malfoy, I—”

“Thank you, Hermione.” He hesitated for a moment, and then continued, “You know, the hardest part about being there, doing this, is feeling like I’m drowning in it. Like one day it’s just going to be too much, and they are going to pull me under, and I’ll lose my humanity.” 

She felt like she understood that. How could he stay so convinced in his morals when he was surrounded by wickedness, debauchery, and the most vile individuals this world had? In that moment, Hermione felt immeasurable respect for him, and his conviction to doing what he  _ knew  _ was right. 

Reaching out, Hermione placed her hand on his, which was now fisted around the Galleon, and smiled warmly at him. 

“Now you have a friend standing at the shore, holding a light for you. I will always be here, to remind you of who you really are, Draco.” 

She squeezed his hand once, and then sat back, resting her hands in her lap, letting her gaze wander around the room.

They remained silent for a few minutes, a heaviness echoing around them. Hermione was about to check the time, when Draco let out a chuckle, and looked at her. 

“I guess this means we’re friends now. We’ve made it past the three quarters mark.” He stood and offered her his arm, smirking.

Laughing, Hermione stood up and wrapped her arm around his, “Yes, I believe so, Mister Malfoy.” 

They walked to the door, where Hermione stopped at the little table and picked up what Draco now realized was her trunk, shrunken down. Putting it in her pocket, Hermione turned, and let Draco open the door for her, and they both left the room they had spent so much time in the last two weeks. 

Draco walked her to the Headmistress’ gargoyle, and then gently dropped her arm, and turned so they were facing each other.

“Have a good summer, Hermione.” 

“Draco—” not knowing how to return the sentiment, since she knew he was going to be miserable, Hermione simply left it at that. 

Smirking, he picked up her hand, bowed his head, and brushed his lips along her knuckles. 

“Ever the gentleman. Your mother would be proud,” she laughed, blushing slightly. 

“Goodbye, Hermione.” 

He turned and left her standing there in the corridor, flushed and dazed, not quite sure she knew exactly what had just happened. Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned to the gargoyle, whispered the password, and headed up the stairs. 

xXxXxXx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews! They feed my muse, and my ego. 
> 
> Xoxo - Luce


	9. Ugliest Pyjamas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
> >>Super shoutout to my wonderful Beta!: Dreamingofstars85

 

**Ugliest Pyjamas** **  
** **CHAPTER NINE**

When Hermione met Professor McGonagall in her office, the older witch had given her a stern reminder that she, under no uncertain terms, was required to keep  _ any  _ information she had learned as an Order member a secret.  _ Including _ , but not limited to, what she had learned about her parents. 

Hermione had reluctantly agreed, already missing the ability to talk to Draco about all of this. 

And Draco—  _ What was going on there?  _

Her stomach was still in knots as she stood in the office while the Professor readied her things to take Hermione home. 

“Miss Granger, are you feeling under the weather?” 

“What? No professor— ” Hermione tilted her head in confusion. 

“You look flushed.” 

“Oh— I uh, I was running a little behind, um, packing my trunk, so I— I ran here.” 

“I see,” was all the professor had to say. Hermione blushed further, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

After another moment tidying her desk, the older witch turned to Hermione and informed her they would be Flooing to the Three Broomsticks, and apparating from there. She motioned Hermione to the Floo powder, and waited for the young witch to head through the fireplace. 

When they landed near her parents’ house after having Apparated away from the pub, the two witches made the short walk to her home, where she was immediately assaulted with hugs and kisses. Richard and Helen both began bombarding her with questions about school, her friends, and apparently every possible other subject they could possibly think of. 

Professor McGonagall had sent in a request to the Ministry to have the Grangers added to the Floo Network, for special occasions only. It was a quick process to set up the connection, as all you needed was the properly filled out and stamped paperwork from the Ministry. The Professor had agreed to make the connection for the initial set up, so Hermione led her into the living room, where the older witch did some quick wand waving and an incantation. After she had Floo Called the Ministry’s Floo Network Department to verify the connection had been established, Professor McGonagall informed Hermione that she had an opening from ten o’clock to eleven o’clock the following Sunday morning. The Ministry would open the Granger’s to the Floo Network, and Hermione would be able to depart to The Burrow.

After a quick goodbye to Professor McGonagall, Hermione had to explain again to her parents the ins and outs of the Floo Network. Richard and Helen nodded their heads, and made noncommittal noises during her impromptu lesson, but Hermione knew they would have to see it in action to better understand. After answering more questions about school and life, Hermione feigned exhaustion, and headed up to her bedroom, ready for some much needed space and quietness.  

The  _ interesting _ turn of events that morning nearly had her forgetting about everything she had learned about her family since the last time she'd seen them, but being back home pulled it all back to the forefront of her mind. She found even answering mundane questions about Harry and Ron, or Ancient Runes class was bringing her close to tears, so she excused herself in order to get a grip, before her parents started noticing something was very off with her. 

She flopped onto her bed staring up at the ceiling, and allowed herself a moment to let go. She knew her parents would leave her be, at least for a while, so it was as good a time as any to have a small breakdown. 

Hermione cried until her tears ran dry, and then just lay curled on her bed staring at nothing while her questions, doubts, and fears swam rampant in her mind. She knew Draco was right. Whatever the situation was that brought her into Richard and Helen’s lives, they  _ did _ love her, and biological or not, they were her parents. Blood couldn’t change that. 

But a family tree wasn’t the only thing she was worried about. Hermione had deep concerns about the traits she had, that clearly weren’t from her adoptive parents. Fed up with that line of thought, she pushed herself to sitting and decided that if she had repressed, or otherwise not acted upon, those less desirable traits of hers for the past almost 18 years, she could continue to do so. 

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione resolved to spend the little time she did have with her parents enjoying  their company, rather than fretting about the unknown and unchangeable. With that in mind, she cast a cooling charm on her face, hiding the evidence of her tears, and headed downstairs.

xXxXxXx

After giving her parents loads of made-up details about school, classes, Harry, Ron, Hogsmeade, and even some of the girls in her dorm, Richard and Helen were satisfied their daughter was living a well-rounded, happy life, and began to relax into their normal routine. They had family time in the den, Hermione helped her mum with dinner, and Richard read them both the evening paper. 

They had a quiet meal together, where Hermione asked her parents about their jobs, family friends, relatives, and their general well being. Her parents wanted to know more about the work she had been doing with Professor McGonagall. Did she want to go into teaching? Was she getting extra credit? Had she volunteered or was she asked? Over dessert, they asked about the wedding— Who was Bill again? Where was Fleur from? Why did Hermione have to head over there so early? On and on and on. 

Most people would consider it a wonderful family conversation, but by the end of the meal, Hermione was feeling the weight of her lies heavy on her heart, and excused herself. She bid both her parents goodnight, and walked up the stairs to her room. 

Once inside, she shut and locked her door, turning to lean back on it, and slid to the floor. Hermione was suddenly very glad she only had one week with her parents before she went to the Burrow. Although, hiding this from Harry and Ron wouldn’t be the easiest task either, but at least she could blame it on the Order, Horcrux problem, stress about keeping her parents safe— oh gods, that was another thing she had to think about; a plan in case she had to Obliviate her parents — there were really plenty of things to blame her stress on, without even touching the topic of Draco or Rodolphus. 

She closed her eyes, sinking further into the floor if that was possible, and let her mind wander back to earlier that morning. 

Back to Draco. 

What was she going to do with him? 

Now that she was distanced from him, she finally had a moment to actually think about everything that had happened between them since Professor McGonagall had given her this... _ task.  _ She was able to admit to herself now that she had no doubts about where his loyalties were, or whose side he was really on. It was clear that he wanted to be with the Order, and for the right reasons. 

It was also clear that underneath that layer of  _ arsehole _ he wore for everyone else, was a genuinely good man. Hermione knew that Draco had yet to realize that he was, in fact, good, but she felt determined to make him see that, and she was nothing if not stubborn. 

xXxXxXx

Hermione had readied for bed, brushing her teeth and throwing on her coziest— albeit ugliest— pyjamas, before grabbing a book and crawling under the covers.

She had just opened the worn novel when she felt a sudden warmness under her shirt. Gasping, and grabbing the Galleon that hung there, she held it out and watched as a message appeared. 

_ HI _

Hermione let out a small laugh, and picked up her wand from the bedside table. Pausing, she took a moment to think of what to send back, before tapping the Galleon. 

_ Miss me already, Malfoy? _

She desperately wished she could see his face when he read  _ that _ one. She felt a little smug at her quip, and a little giddy— though she would never admit it out loud— that he had been the one to send her a message first. It only surprised her a little when his reply came almost immediately. 

_ Just making sure you weren’t pining away for me, love. _

  
Hermione smiled as her belly filled with butterflies, wondering what he was doing, but too afraid to ask. Before she could reply, he sent another,    
  
_ Seriously, are you handling them alright? _

She knew he was talking about her parents, but she didn't know what to say.  _ No, I've locked myself in my bedroom because I can't bare looking at them, _ or better yet,  _ I'm hiding because I can't hold a proper conversation without crying.   _

No, he didn't need that right now.  

_ I'm managing. Reading. You?  _

Short and truthful, but still misleading. That worked.

It was a few minutes before his reply came. When it did, Hermione felt her heart break. 

_ I’m sinking.  _

xXxXxXx

She hadn’t known how to respond to him at first. Knowing Draco, he wouldn’t want reassurances that it would be alright, and he wouldn’t want to talk about it. Because it wasn’t alright, and talking about it wouldn’t solve anything. What he was being forced to do wasn’t okay, and they both knew that. 

Instead, she had simply replied with:

_ I won’t let you.  _

She didn’t get any response after that, though she hadn’t expected one, really. Hermione rolled over in her bed, unable to focus on her book any longer. She let her mind wander, wondering what Draco was doing. She wanted to know what was going to be expected of him— what he was going to have to do as a Death Eater— but she also knew that if he told her, she would likely pity him at best, and be nauseated and horrified at worst. She wasn’t even sure she really wanted to know— not wanting to have to think about the terrible crimes he was sure to be forced to commit. 

Hermione felt a tear roll down her face.  _ When had she started crying so much? _ She wished she could talk to Harry. He probably wouldn’t have any idea what to say, but he would at least hug her and tell her that everything is going to turn out okay. It was hard not being able to tell her best friend everything that had been going on. She hated keeping secrets from him. For the last six years Harry had known almost every detail of her life, and now he knew almost nothing.  _ She went on a broom for Godric’s sake! _ Harry would have paid good Galleons to see that! He’d be gutted if he found out he missed that sight. 

Letting out a quiet laugh, she wiped the tear away and shimmied down the comforter until just her face was peaking out. She took a moment to clear her mind, checking her barriers because she knew she had to keep using the skill in order to continue improving… or at least so she wouldn’t lose it. Plus, she knew Draco would be quite put off next year if she wasn’t  _ at least _ as good as when they had parted. 

Satisfied that her mind was still occluded, Hermione started counting backwards from one thousand. It was actually hard for her to focus on the counting, and not let her mind wander. Eventually, she felt herself getting drowsy, and, somewhere in the seven hundreds, she fell asleep. 

xXxXxXx

The days were passing in a blur, and Hermione found that while being with her parents was tough, it was also a much needed distraction. 

They kept her busy most of the time, and when she was busy, she had less time to think about all the problems in the Wizarding World, and her personal little bubble. 

Her mother had begged Hermione to help her in the garden, though she insisted on doing it without magic. She was convinced that using magic was sure to harm the plants, no matter how many times Hermione tried reassuring her that wizards and witches had gardens which they managed magically. They re-potted plants that had outgrown their homes, organized the herbs alphabetically, and even set up a trellis for roses along the house. By the end of the afternoon, Hermione had almost forgotten her woes completely. At least her magical ones. She had been covered in dirt and aching from a day in the sun doing manual labor. But it was a good ache. It reminded her that she was alive, and sometimes she needed that.  

Her father had her help him in his home office, organizing papers, and charming the file cabinet to hold more than it should. They talked a bit about how the ladies working in the main office were doing, how both he and Helen nearly had more patients than they could handle, and that he was starting to consider retirement. 

That had surprised Hermione, but she knew her parents had done very well over the years, and they wished to travel before they got too old to have the adventures they had put off to go to school and start a practice. 

There had only been one depressing moment that day, when her father had told her the first place he and Helen wanted to visit was Australia; Hermione decided that that is where she would send them, if and when the time came, to disappear. 

It was on her fourth day home that Hermione's parents had expressed their concern about her eating habits.  

“I'm just saying I'm worried, sweetie. I've hardly seen you have more than tea, maybe some fruit for breakfast, lunch is questionable, and you pick at your dinner every night.” Helen had sat her down after dinner that night, her voice filled with concern. 

_ “ _ Honestly mum, I’ve just been stressed from end of term finals, worrying about taking the N.E.W.T’s next year—” 

“Darling, you need to take better care of yourself! Your father and I worry about you, and when you’re gone all year at school, we just—”

“ _ Mum _ , I promise I will take better care of myself. Mrs. Weasley all but stuffs food down our throats when we are there, anyways. I’m sure I will gain at least a half stone while I’m at the Burrow.” She assured her mum, mentally berating herself for being so careless again. Though she wasn’t really sure if she was being careless with her health, or careless for getting caught. 

Her mum sighed, rubbing Hermione’s cheek before standing up, and starting on dinner. Her father had sat quietly during her mum’s speech, and simply patted her shoulder, as he stood, giving her a kiss on top of her head before joining Helen at the stove. 

Hermione watched her father wrap his arms around her mum’s waist, kissing her lightly on the cheek, and standing holding her while she stirred the pot. She had always loved seeing how much her parents loved each other; it made her believe in happy endings again. 

She made an effort on dinner that night, though it was hard, because she honestly wasn’t that hungry. She mostly shoved food around her plate, and passed it down to Crookshanks when no one was looking. At least his appetite never failed. 

Hermione was glad she had decided to send her cat home after Dumbledore’s funeral, even though she missed him terribly. The last couple of weeks at school had been busy, and she’d known he would get more attention from her mum than she would be able to give him with everything that had been going on. It was clear that he was basking in that attention, as he was even fatter than he had been three weeks ago. She was going to have to exercise the damn cat. 

xXxXxXx

The evening had passed much the same as the others that week. While Richard and Helen retired to watch the telly together after dinner, Hermione showered and dressed for bed, grabbing a book before huddling down in her bed. 

Draco had sent her a quick message, checking on her, She sent one back letting him know she was okay, and asking him if he was alright. He responded that he was safe, and that was it. They hadn’t had a longer conversation since that first night. She would wait all day to hear from him, and when their entire conversation consisted of three short messages, she found herself pouting like a child.

It was depressing that her life had come to that. It was embarrassing, and a tad unsettling, to admit that she waited all day to hear from him. To admit that she missed him. 

When had that happened? She tried to pinpoint the moment when things had changed, but she wasn’t able to. Sometime between finding out about Rodolphus, and drinking Firewhisky with him, things had shifted. It was disquieting. 

Hermione read until her eyelids drooped. She checked her Galleon one last time, like she did every night, and just like every night, there was nothing. Rolling over, she closed her eyes and hoped for a dreamless sleep. 

XXxXxXx

On her last morning at home, Hermione’s mum made cinnamon rolls breakfast, with fresh apples, and orange juice. Both Helen and Richard were visibly unhappy at their daughter’s impending departure, but it was clear they were trying to make the most of their time with her. Hermione did the best she could to eat breakfast, but still fed quite a bit to Crookshanks, who was more than happy to help. 

They took a short family walk mid-morning, and when they returned, Hermione packed her trunk. She tried to tidy her things, but was soon sitting on her bed, crying. With everything that had been going on lately, she knew this could be one of the last times she saw her parents. She knew there was a possibility that they would have to be Obliviated, for their protection, and while Hermione desperately hoped for a future where that wouldn’t have to happen, she knew the probability was high. This could be their last goodbye, and she was heartbroken, and a little bitter. 

Casting a cooling charm to hide the evidence of her tears, Hermione shrunk down her trunk and headed downstairs to the fireplace where her parents were waiting for her. They shared a tearful goodbye with promises of writing and assurances that they would soon see each other again, because Christmas hols really weren’t that far off. 

Hermione reached into her beaded bag and pulled out another small pouch, filled with Floo powder. She shouted “ _ The Burrow!” _ and and stepped into the flames, leaving her parents behind. 

Richard and Helen watched their daughter disappear into the green of the fire, before turning into each other, and embracing. Helen continued to let a few tears fall, while Richard whispered reassurances to his wife. Neither knew why, but that had been the hardest goodbye yet. 

xXxXxXx


	10. Ten Points to Gryffindor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
> >>My beta is the best beta!! Dreamingofstars85 
> 
> A/N: This is a long chapter! I LOVE the reviews you are leaving! Thank you so much! Xoxo, Luce!

 

**CHAPTER TEN**

**Ten Points to Gryffindor**

When Hermione stumbled through the Floo at The Burrow, she was quite surprised to find the room empty and quiet. Dusting herself off, and watching Crookshanks disappear around a corner, she listened for a moment before calling out.

“Hello? Ron? Harry?”

Getting no reply, Hermione started to walk toward the stairs but stopped when she heard shouting outside, and quickly turned to head toward the door. She walked outside and followed the commotion into the Weasley’s yard. What she saw had her both slightly alarmed, and stifling back a laugh.

Mr. Weasley was standing on a precariously balanced Muggle ladder, with what looked to be a string of Christmas lights tangled all around himself, attempting to affix them to the roof. Mrs. Weasley was quite unsteadily holding the ladder from below, one hand on her hip, shouting up at her husband a flurry of angry reprimands. Hermione was sure she heard one or two oaths sternly whispered under the woman’s breath as well.

The rest of the group was equally comical. The twins were off to the side, mischievously whispering to one another. They kept glancing at Ron, who was on his knees a couple meters away, peering into a bush, and shouting at Harry something about stunning a gnome.

Ginny was perched on the stone fence, with a peculiar expression on her face. Hermione followed the girl’s gaze, and saw her ogle Harry’s arse as he bent over on the other side of the bush, and she laughed at how obvious and unashamed the girl was.

Ginny heard Hermione’s laugh and looked over to see their friend smiling at them. She waved to her and hopped off the fence, bouncing over and throwing her arms around her friend in a tight embrace.

“Hermione!” Ginny squealed, “Ron! Harry! Mum! Look who’s here!”

As soon as the others spotted her, the scene shifted from one kind of chaos to another. Hermione was soon being hugged by so many arms she couldn’t tell who was who. Until she got to Harry that is. His hugs were always very distinct. As he wrapped his arms around her, Hermione nuzzled her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, and finally felt herself relax a little.

They had always had a rather intimate friendship, although neither was romantically inclined toward the other in any way. Harry had been so starved of love and affection growing up that when he realised how physically affectionate Hermione naturally was, he’d gravitated to her.

“Harry,” she sighed into his embrace, and the two friends hugged tightly until Ginny cleared her throat loudly and clapped Hermione on the back.

As soon as Harry was out of the way, Mrs. Weasley began fussing over Hermione, dusting leftover soot off her jacket, and tsk tsk-ing under her breath about how thin Hermione looked.

“Fred, George! Make sure your father doesn't fall off of that Muggle death trap. We’re going to get our Hermione all settled.” Mrs. Weasley shouted over her shoulder as she all but drug Hermione toward the house, Harry, Ron, and Ginny following along.

Once inside, Molly instructed Ginny to take Hermione up to ‘ _the girls’ room’_ , which made Hermione chuckle under her breath, since it's just Ginny’s regular bedroom. Harry and Ron quickly followed the girls up the stairs before she had a chance to insist they start some meticulous cleaning task, and Mrs. Weasley set out to prepare lunch.

Ginny chattered the whole way to the bedroom. Once they were all inside with the door shut, Harry and Ron began catching Hermione up on everything _The Burrow_ , as well. Apparently a lot can happen in a week when there is an upcoming wedding and a very stressed out Molly Weasley in one residence.

She had insisted that the garden be de-gnomed every day, at least once, but often trying for a second time in the afternoon. If you wanted to leave the house at all, it had better be on _Official Wedding Business_ , as she called it. ‘If you had time to lean, you had time to clean.’ It went on and on.

They chatted until Mrs. Weasley was hollering up the stairs at them, insisting everyone come down for lunch. The Weasleys and their strays, as Fred and George called them, all gathered around the long table and shared a very loud, but enjoyable meal together. Conversations were being held in all directions; Hermione could barely hear Harry who was sitting right next to her. It was always a bit of a shock to the system, coming to The Burrow after being at home— though it was a very welcome feeling, being surrounded by so much family.

And after all these years she really felt like the Weasleys were family. Molly treated her like another one of her brood, and Ron was already like a brother to her. She knew Harry felt the same, too, only for him it was not exactly a _second_ family, since his first was so awful. The Burrow is where he was able to be a part of a family that _wanted_ him to be a part of it.

After lunch, Hermione and Ginny were summoned to the kitchen to help clean up, while Harry, Ron, and the twins were sent back outside to finish up things in the garden. Mrs. Weasley had left with Fleur to do some last minute wedding shopping, and the house seemed to collectively sigh in relief when she departed.

Ginny charmed the dishes to wash themselves, and plopped down on a chair in the kitchen, “I can’t wait for this wedding to be over. Mum’s getting a tad mental these days.”

Laughing, Hermione charmed the table linens to fold, and sat down next to Ginny. “I can tell! She seems a bit… intense, right now.”

“You have no idea!”

“So,” Hermione glanced around making sure they were alone, “any _news_ you want to tell me? It’s been a week now that you’ve been living with Harry. Have you had any… progress?” she giggled.

“He is as thick as ever, that one. I have _not_ been subtle, Hermione.”

“I wasn’t aware the word subtle was even in your vocabulary. It might be time to try a more direct approach. Harry wouldn’t see subtle if it was a whomping willow branch that hit him upside the head.”

Ginny’s mouth slowly turned up at the corner, in a sly smirk, and she had a mischievous look on her face that rivaled that of the twins.

“Oh no. Ginny, what are you planning?” Hermione was shaking her head, already anticipating the ridiculous idea she was surely forming.

“Oh, just you wait and see. Just you wait.” She smirked.

 _Fantastic,_ Hermione thought.

After they had cleaned everything from lunch and set the kitchen to rights, the two young witches headed out into the garden to watch the disaster show that was happening there.

Mr. Weasley was back on the ladder, trying to use a staple gun _and_ his wand to get the Muggle Christmas lights to stick to the house.

“Does your dad know those are Christmas lights, Ginny?”

Ginny nodded. “He wanted to decorate the house with them for the wedding. Mum said she didn’t want them anywhere near the marquis, so dad took that to mean he could plaster them all over the house. Not exactly what Mum meant, mind you, but better here where they won’t really be seen.” She laughed, watching her father wobble on the ill-balanced ladder.

Ron and Harry were back around the bush, both wands drawn, and trying to outsmart a gnome, it appeared. Ron had come at it directly, while Harry was creeping along the back edge, to surprise it. When Ron lunged at the gnome, it turned and ran, to Hermione’s surprise, straight into Harry’s waiting arms.

“Ginny, did you see that? Harry and Ron made a plan, together, without me, and it _worked_.” Hermione elbowed Ginny in the ribs, pointing to the boys. Harry had just flung the gnome over the fence, and was high-fiving Ron.

“I actually didn’t think they were going to manage it. That bugger has been hiding out in that bush for days now, and Mum has had us out here morning and evening trying to get rid of it.” Ginny stated, before shouting at the boys, “Took you long enough, tossers!”

The girls fell into a fit of giggles as Ron made to pretend kick at Ginny, and ended up falling on his arse. Harry was laughing as well, though he did offer his fallen friend a hand up.

Once the garden tasks were taken care of, everyone headed inside to their rooms before Mrs. Weasley could come back and set them on another project. Ginny had bolted off after the twins, saying something about returning favors owed to her. Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed into the boys’ room, where Hermione locked and silenced the door, before turning to her friends and saying,

“So, Horcruxes —”

xXxXxXx

An hour later, when there was nothing left for the trio to plan, Hermione looked at Harry and shrugged her shoulders feeling disheartened.

“Harry, I’m not sure how we are going to do this if we can’t find any more information — there just isn’t enough here. It's like trying to find a bowtruckle in a tree.”

“We will figure something out, Hermione. Maybe when we have more time in the library next year, we will make more progress. Ron and I will buckle down and really work on finding stuff, won’t we Ron?” Harry elbowed his friend.

“Ouch!” Ron rubbed his ribs, but seeing Harry’s stern glare, he added, “Oh yeah, sure ‘Mione. We will do loads more next year. It’ll all be fine.”

A light rap on the door interrupted Hermione’s response. She hurried to shuffle their papers and books underneath a pillow while Harry opened the door.

“Oh, hey Gin,” he stepped aside to let Ginny into the room.

“What are you three up to?” she asked, noting the way Hermione was protectively trying to hide a rather lumpy looking pillow.

“Nothing!” all three voices said at once.

Laughing, Ginny sat down on the floor, leaning up against the bed. “Oh and that wasn’t suspicious at all.” She rolled her eyes, and chuckled.

“So, what’s the plan then?” Ron asked, looking to Hermione.

“Why am _I_ always the one who has to come up with the plans here? You three have brains, just the same as I do. Use them!”

“To be fair Hermione, no one has a brain quite like yours,” Harry teased.

She threw a pillow at him, and then had to duck as he threw one back.

Gasping, she put a hand on her hip, “Harry James Potter--”  She couldn’t finish that sentence, because she was suddenly hit with a pillow from behind.

Ron was laughing loudly, and suddenly all four friends had grabbed a pillow of their own and it became an all out war. Ducking, covering, lashing out with their makeshift weapons, they were having entirely too much fun. Harry had just hit Ron with a blow that nearly knocked him off his feet when they heard laughing and quick banter from the door.

“Ay, Forge, a pillow fight!”

“Just what we always hoped we would walk in on, Gred!”

“Except I think we always imagined it with all girls, Forge. At least I did —”

“Yeah, and none of them our sisters! What do you say Gred?”

And then in unison, “Everyone out except Hermione!”

At that, everyone burst into laughter, and Hermione’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The four put their pillows down, all breathing heavily. Fred and George walked the rest of the way into the room, and closed the door, standing with their backs to the wall, clearly hiding something.

“Oi, what do you have there? Please tell me we aren’t about to be another one of your unsuspecting test subjects. I still haven’t recovered from the last time yet!” Ron paled, clearly having been on the receiving end of the twins’ pranks one too many times this summer.

“Aww, wittle Wonniekins. You don’t like supporting your favorite brothers?” Fred chimed.

“No matter, Fred, we’re still _Ginny’s_ favorite brothers.”

“Traitor,” Ron whispered under his breath.

“Oh come on now, you know I hate you all equally!” she laughed. “Now, have you two fulfilled your end of the bargain, or am I going to have to —”

Quickly cutting her off the twins said in unison, “ALRIGHT!”

“No need for harsh words here! George and I have procured the goods.” At this, Fred and George produced two large bottles of Firewhisky from behind their backs.

“Now, you four know we are required to give you the big brothers talk —” George smirked.

“But we will make it short,” Fred finished for him.

“Don’t. Get. Caught!” they emphasized together.  

“Debt paid, Ginny,” George said, and the twins turned to the door, and left the four staring after them for a moment, before the trio rounded on Ginny.

“What was that about!?” Ron questioned, “What do you have on them?”

“Did you not just stand here for that entire interaction, Ron? We had a deal, they fulfilled their end of the bargain, and now my lips are sealed,” Ginny scolded, placing the two bottles of Firewhisky under the bed.

“Ginny, what are those for?” Hermione had her eyebrows raised, and was gesturing to the bed.

“You see, Hermione. Witches and wizards sometimes _drink_ those kinds of things, to become intoxicated, and have a grand time.”

“Yeah, but why do _you_ have them?” Harry specified.

“We are going to be having quite the night tonight,” She smirked, and then walked out of the room.

“Well that was weird. Any idea what’s gotten into her?” Ron asked.

“Not. A. Clue.” Hermione stated, just bewildered as the boys.

xXxXxXx

After dinner that night, the four youngest members of the Weasley household had received knowing smirks from the twins just before they departed up the stairs and gathered in the girls room. Ginny quietly instructed Harry and Ron to head back to their room, and return under the invisibility cloak, with the Firewhisky, in no less than one hour. They left, a tad confused, and Ginny shut and locked the door, turning to Hermione.

“Subtlety is going out the window tonight!” she grinned.

Hermione watched Ginny prep herself for the evening and wondered, not for the first time, why that innate female need to beautify oneself had completely skipped her. She had never been one to get done up, for any occasion, really. It had been a miracle when she looked presentable for the Yule Ball. It had also been Ginny Weasley who had performed said miracle.

It was just this last year that Hermione had finally figured out how to tame her hair with a couple charms, and even the minute it took to perform those seemed excruciatingly long. Though, she had to admit, she quite liked the results. It somehow turned her wild mane into perfectly formed curls that ran down her back, and stayed put.

She loved magic.

A little less than an hour later, when Ginny had fixed her hair, done her makeup, shaved her legs, rubbed lotion all over her body, and sprayed perfume in places that had Hermione questioning exactly _what_ the young witch had planned for the night, she turned to Hermione and stood. She grabbed her hand and took them both to her closet and shoved Hermione in before following herself.

“Alright, Hermione. You’ve dodged all my other efforts to doll you up, but this you aren’t skipping.” Her voice was stern, and she had that look in her eye that told Hermione any arguing would be useless.

“Fine Ginny, I’ll change into that sweater you lent me a few weeks ago. That was nice, right?”

“Oooh no Miss Granger. No, no, no. We aren’t going for _nice_ , tonight.”

“You do realise that if you are trying to — _lure_ Harry, then the only one left for me is Ron. _Your brother.”_ Hermione hoped Ginny wouldn’t notice just how awful that idea sounded to her.

“Oh, come on Hermione. I know you don’t fancy Ron. _Ew_ . But look, if I look like _this_ ,” she gestured her hands down her body, “and you look like… that— well, it will look like I’m trying too hard. If we are both dressed up, then we can say we just wanted to have some girl time!”

“Honestly, Ginny. Those two have been my best friends for six years now. They’ll know you forced me the moment they see me,” She chuckled.

“Hermione Jean Granger, _I NEED YOU_! Please do this for me? Pleasepleasepleaseplease?” the girl dropped to her knees in front of Hermione, and was literally begging— hands clasped, eyes pleading and all. Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes at the dramatic display in front of her.

“Oh, alright Ginny! Pick something, and I will wear it.”

She should have been a little more specific when she made that concession.

Ginny chose to wear tight jeans, and a low cut burgundy shirt that accentuated her figure. For Hermione, she had chosen black leggings, and a slightly loose dark green shirt. At least it covered her bum. Actually, the shirt was something Hermione liked, except Ginny insisted that the buttons down the front be undone an indecent amount. She drew a line when the young, _insane_ , witch had tried to unbutton them so low her that the skin _below_ her bra showed.

“Ginevra Weasley! Those boys are like my brothers. I will be surprised if they aren’t disgusted by this. My shirt _cannot_ be this open.” She stood her ground.

“Oh, alright then,” she huffed, replacing one button into its hole. “But let me assure you, Hermione, however close of friends you are, a guy _always_ notices, and appreciates, the female figure. Especially when it’s one like yours.” Ginny winked at her, and then turned back to the bedroom, missing Hermione’s blush.

Before leaving the closet, Hermione did one more button up, hoping Ginny wouldn’t notice. Just as she was walking toward the bed to sit down, there was a knock at the door. Ginny answered, and stepped back into the room, waiting a moment before shutting the door.

Once the door was shut, Harry and Ron appeared as the Cloak fell off them. Harry’s eyes were trained on Ginny, and he looked pretty pleased.

“Wow, Gin, you look— great.”

“Hermione and I decided to have some girl time before you lot got here.” Ginny nonchalantly gestured to the other witch, who happened to be glaring at her that moment.

Ron and Harry turned to say hi to Hermione, and both boys were a bit shocked to see their friend in very _non-_ Hermione clothing.

“What are you _wearing_ ‘Mione?” Ron’s tone was almost accusing.

Harry elbowed Ron, trying to save his friend. “He means you look great too, Hermione.”

“Uh huh.”

Turning to Ginny, Harry asked, “So what’s the plan, Gin?”

With a mischievous grin on her face, Ginny held her hands out to take the Firewhisky from Ron. She walked over to her dresser and placed the two bottles next to the four cups already sitting there. She then turned and looked up at the clock on her wall. Smirking, she looked at Harry and said, “Part one is taken care of. Part two should be arriving _any_ moment now.”

“Part two?” Hermione didn’t know about any part two.

Before Ginny had to answer, there were three raps at her door. Six eyebrows shot up as Ginny walked to the door, and opened it again.

“Are we good then?” Bill’s voice carried into the room and three dropped jaws joined the already raised eyebrows.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Big Brother.” You could hear the smirk on her face as she said it. She closed the door and cast a silencing charm, then returned to the dresser with a vial in her hand.

“Ginny, what is that?” Hermione was suddenly very, very nervous.

xXxXxXx

“Bloody hell Ginny, what do you have on Bill?”

“None of your business Ron. He just _paid_ me to keep my mouth shut. And as you’re about to benefit from that, I’d suggest you not pester me, or him, about it.”

“What are you planning on doing with that, Ginny?”

“Oh come on, Hermione. Brightest witch of your age? I thought it was pretty clear.” Ginny had taken the lid off of the Firewhisky, and was reading a small piece of parchment that had been wrapped around the vial. She very carefully poured a bit of the potion into only one bottle, before putting the stopper back on and placing the vial in what looked to be her knickers drawer.

“Veritaserum or Dare?” Harry had walked over to stand next to her, and bent down looking at the potion mixing effortlessly into the Firewhisky.

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” She smiled at him, and used her wand to mark the bottle with the potion in it; a black ‘X’ appearing on the label.

“Ginny, there is no way I am playing that.” Hermione suddenly felt very nervous. She couldn’t play. What if they asked something about where she had been the last weeks of school. Or exactly what she had been doing after term ended? No, there was no way she was playing that game.

“Yes you are playing, Hermione.” Ginny sounded so confident in her statement but she was wrong.

“You three can play. I will watch.”

“I think you and I need to have a quick chat.” Ginny gave Hermione a pointed look, before turning and walking to the corner of the room. Hermione reluctantly followed her, and crossed her arms when she was standing in front of the witch.

Ginny turned to throw up silencing charms before rounding on her friend.

“You play, or I tell Harry all about that little fantasy of yours, involving, oh, who was it again? Right, his _godfather!_ ”

“Ginny! You wouldn’t!” Hermione had shared that in confidence with her friend the summer before, after she had accidentally seen Sirius in the buff in Grimmauld place. He was very fit, even for an older wizard, and Hermione had been none too shy telling Ginny she fancied the man.

“Oh, but I would. How do you think I acquired Firewhisky _and_ Veritaserum on such short notice? My brothers knew better than to think I was lying when I said I’d tell their secrets. You should know better too.”

“You’re a right bitch, Ginevra Weasley.”

“I’m a bitch who gets what I want.” Smirking, Ginny released the silencing charm and walked toward the boys. “Everyone’s playing!”

Hermione followed her over and grabbed a piece of parchment and quill before sitting down on the floor. She quickly wrote on the paper, and then waited as both Harry and Ron sat down, followed by Ginny with the two bottles. She placed them in the middle of the small circle the four had formed, and then summoned the glasses.

Hermione waited for her to pour the drinks, out of the Veritaserum bottle and push them toward each of her friends before she spoke.

“Since apparently there is no getting out of this little game, I have a stipulation, and you will all be signing this contract so that you know I am serious.

“Oh come on, ‘Mione, it’s just for fun.” Ron started, but quickly closed his mouth at the glare he received.

“I’m just going to assume that you two have informed Ginny of my position in the Order.” When they both looked guilty, she continued, “I have been given strict instructions not to discuss any aspect of my position in the Order. So any questions pertaining to that are off limits. I think you’ll all remember the contract we used for the DA. This has now been spelled similarly. I don’t need to remind you there is a wedding here in a couple of days. Don’t ask about the Order.” She gave each of them a stern look before passing around the parchment and quill for them to sign.

“Way to bring the mood down, Hermione.” Ginny sassily took the parchment and signed before placing it off to the side.

“Well I’m sorry, but I only just got in the Order, I don’t want them kicking me out already!” _Plus, I don’t want to deal with you lot’s reaction to Draco,_ she thought.

“Alright everyone, glasses up.” Not letting the party spirit be dampened, Ginny raised her glass and waited for the other to do the same, before shouting “Cheers!”

They touched glasses, and each of them took sips of their drinks, then were all silent for a few moments. After Hermione met Harry’s eye, the two shared a look and then burst into laughter.

“Oi! What’s so funny?” When he got no response, but his two friends continued to laugh like children, Ron felt his lips begin to smirk, and suddenly he was laughing along, followed closely by Ginny.

“Why are we—” clutching her side, “even playing this? We already know most everything about each other anyways!” Hermione could not contain the laughs that were erupting out of her, and she had to put her drink down to keep it from spilling.

Eventually they were able to pull themselves together enough to stop laughing, and they decided to just drink and talk instead, because Hermione was right, they already knew all there was to know. Or at least, they thought they did.

The group chatted about school and Quidditch, and the wedding, among many other things. They all found their lips were quite inclined to blurt out the first thing that came to their minds, which led to some funny realisations.

“I don’t care what her face looks like, her body has got to be fit under those robes!” Ron blurted out after Harry mentioned Madame Hooch.

“EW! Ronald! Madame Hooch?!” Hermione blurt out, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. She wasn’t one to talk ill of professors.

They were all well into their third glasses of Firewhisky when the conversation died down into a more relaxed, albeit somber, tone. Someone mentioned Dumbledore, to which they all raised their glasses.

Hermione could tell Ginny was being especially forward to Harry, and it made her giggle to watch him completely miss it. That boy couldn’t pick up a hint if it hit him in the face.

“Can you believe Parvati slapped Seamus right in front of everyone when he asked her out?” Ron was looking at Harry, “Why do ya think she did that?”

It was Ginny who answered, “Not three nights before he said the _same exact thing_ to Padma. Even that he thought she was the prettier twin! Obviously she had told her sister, I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“She slapped him? What a horrible thing to do!” Hermione chided, not having heard this before.

“Oh, thats right. You were grading papers with McGonagall when that happened Hermione.” Harry mused.

“I wasn’t grading papers—” The truth had slipped from her mouth before she even knew it was coming. Once it was out, Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, as she watched her friends expressions grow incredulous.

“What do you mean you weren’t grading papers? You went to McGonagall’s office every night—”

Hand still glued to her mouth, Hermione shook her head and cast a pleading look with her eyes.

“What the bloody hell, ‘Mione! What were you doing?”

She squealed, determined not to speak at all, feeling the effects of the potion and not wanting to blurt out the truth.

“Merlin’s beard Hermione! Were you doing Order business that whole time!?” Harry asked, eyes wide.

Hermione just nodded her head, and pointed with her free hand toward the parchment that was still off to the side. Three heads slowly turned to look where she was pointing, then quickly clamped their jaws shut. No one wanted to risk that hex.

“Oh. My. Gods.” was all Ginny said.

After that they switched to regular Firewhisky.

Things are awkward for a bit, but the alcohol quickly helped that pass, and the friends had all but forgotten that admission by the time Ron was slurring at Harry.

“Mate, truth or dare?”

“We aren’t even playing any of those silly games, Ron!” Well, Harry was clearly drunk.

“Truth or dare, Mate!” Ron’s volume had so suddenly increased that Hermione jumped and nearly knocked her glass in an attempt to not fall over herself.

“I just—” Harry slurred

“Dare’s what you get, then,” Ron swigged another sip of his drink, and it looked almost painful for him to say the next bit, “I dare you to snog Ginny.”

Hermione squealed, Ginny’s jaw dropped, and Harry just looked dumbfounded.

“What—” he started, but was quickly cut short.

“Oh come on Harry! You are the only one in this room who _doesn’t_ see what’s going on, and that is saying something, ‘cause I’m usually a pretty dense bloak.”

Hermione turned to Ron, and held out her hand. “Help me up, Ronald. I think I hear— Oh, just help me up.” Making up a quick lie was apparently not an ability she had when she was drinking.

Ron looked at her quizzically, but reached for her outstretched hand anyway; the two using each others weight to pull up to standing. Not letting go of his hand, Hermione led Ron out of the room, with one glance and a wink back at the remaining couple.

Very quietly, Hermione pulled the bedroom door shut, though not before hearing Harry stammer something before a surprised “ungh,” which she assumed was Ginny throwing subtlety to the wind.

“Come on Ron,” Hermione had to pull him the entire way to the boys’ room, where she led him straight to his bed, and let him flop face down. He passed out within seconds. She pulled the blanket up over his body, and turned to lay on Harry’s bed, unsure if she would be sleeping there, or eventually returning to her own bed.

xXxXxXx

Hermione had crawled under the covers and cast a _Tempus_ , surprised at how early it still was; ten minutes until eleven. She rolled away from Ron, putting her back to his line of sight, though it was a bit pointless since he was already asleep.

She pulled her necklace out from under her shirt, and took it off, rolling it between her fingers like she’d seen a Muggle magician once do when her parents had taken her to the circus as a young child. Draco turned out to be quite predictable. He sent her a message every night at exactly eleven. Never a minute after. She wondered if he waited up to send it to her, or if he was busy until then. Either way, every night, eleven o'clock had Hermione holding that Galleon, waiting for it to warm up, and for him to ask her how she was doing.

Ten minutes still needed to pass before that happened though. And Hermione was most certainly drunk. It had been an interesting night, to say the least. She sure hoped Ginny got the outcome she desired from the whole thing. She would have to beat Harry over the head with _Hogwarts, A History_ if he hadn’t picked up on the hints after that. Smiling to herself, she thought how nice it would be for Harry to have someone. Especially Ginny. She could keep him grounded, and young. He needed that. Harry had been forced to grow up way too fast over the years.

She had too, honestly, but as usual, Hermione placed Harry’s happiness above her own. _Typical_ , she thought. That thinking had gotten her into some pretty risky situations recently, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. Harry was her best friend, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him, even at the expense of her own feelings.

Sighing, she cast another _Tempus._ Three minutes. _And what the hell Hermione?! When did you become absolutely dependent on another person—a boy, for Merlin’s sake!_ She chastised herself, still clutching the coin tightly.

When it started to warm, Hermione cast a _lumos_ and read the message she already knew would appear.

_Hi. Alright?_

She knew her standard response would be to say ‘Hi. Yes, you?’ but tonight she couldn’t settle for standard. She still felt the alcohol buzzing in her system, so with that borrowed Firewhisky-courage, and a page from Ginny’s book, she sent her reply:

_I miss you._

His response came a minute later.

_Is that code for ‘I’ve been kidnapped?’_

Har har, Draco, she thought. Smirking, she sent:

_That’s Firewhisky for ‘I miss you’_

She was starting to feel that nagging doubt, wondering if she should have just stuck to the standard reply.

_Are you drunk?_

That’s an understatement, she thought. Hermione could actually still feel a bit of the Veritaserum running through her veins, and idly wondered if Bill had given Ginny the proper dosage instructions.

_I am. We are. Firewhisky and Veritaserum. Not the best mix for keeping your mouth shut if you ask me._

His reply was instant.

_What did you say?_

Oh honestly! Did the boy think she was dense?

_You underestimate me. Nothing._

After another minute, Hermione read his response, and the smile it caused had her covering her mouth, trying to hide it, even in the dark.

_I miss you, too. Goodnight._

Hermione whispered _Finite,_ plunging the room into darkness, and put the necklace back around her neck, tucking it under her shirt, before cuddling down into the blankets of Harry’s bed. She was about to just give up on staying awake and call it a night, when the door to the boys’ room opened.

“Harry?” It was too dark to see the figure.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d still be awake.” She could hear the grin on his face.

Hermione sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, “It went well, I take it?”

Chuckling, Harry crossed the room and sat down next to her. She felt him sway in his drunkenness, and she smiled. “Yeah, it went well.”

“You deserve to be happy, Harry.” Hermione leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

“So do you, Hermione.”

Shaking her head a little, Hermione patted Harry’s leg, and stood up. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She quietly walked out of the boys’ room, down the hall to the girls’ room. She closed the door behind her as quietly as she could and walked over to Ginny’s bed, and plopped down.

“So?!” she bounced up and down on the bed, impatiently waiting for the younger witch to give her the details she knew were sure to be titillating.

It only took her a moment before she was jumping up and squealing.

“He kissed me! Hermione!”

“Good Godric, it took him long enough!” Hermione giggled, and waited for more.

“At first he was really shy— you know Harry. But then once he— well, I sort of just ended up jumping him, but he definitely kissed me back!”

Hermione had fallen into a fit of giggles, imagining Harry’s stunned face when the witch in front of her threw herself at him, and now that she had started, she couldn’t get herself to stop. The effects of the lingering Firewhisky had her feeling more free than she’d felt in a long time, and she liked the feeling.

“Ginny, this calls for more drinking!” Standing and walking over to the dresser, Hermione made sure she was pouring from the unmarked bottle, before returning to the bed and handing one of the glasses to her friend.

“I just hope he remembers all of this in the morning!” Ginny was also laughing, and it was just so liberating being in a place she felt safe, with her very best friends, people she considered family, watching them in their happiness.

The girls laughed and drank until their glasses were empty, and Hermione listened to Ginny gush about Harry until she nearly had a crush on him herself. Shaking her head, she looked at her friend, and grinned.

“Ginny, I am so happy for you. But I'm tired, and you need to get some sleep.” She hugged the still smiling red head, and then stumbled to her own bed.

Crawling under the covers, Hermione hardly had time to place her wand under her pillow before her lids were heavy, and unconsciousness was dragging her under.

xXxXxXx

The room was still pitch black when Hermione awoke in a sweat, panting and shaking. The dream had felt so real, and the only thing that kept her from screaming out was the fear that if it was real, she didn’t want to be found. Casting a quick _lumos,_ Hermione saw Ginny’s red hair spilling out from the bed across from her own, and recognised the familiar surroundings. She was still in The Burrow. She was safe.

But she was still shaking, and she couldn’t get the images out of her mind. She’d been having nightmares for a long time. Since before the night at the Department of Mysteries, if she was being honest, though she had always been able to calm down on her own before. They had grown even worse when she found out that she was Rodolphus’ daughter, and Bellatrix was keeping an eye on her. That woman was insane, and there was no knowing the lengths she would go for anything.

Hermione couldn’t even bring herself to close her eyes, let alone sleep again. Instead she sat up and rolled out of bed, quietly leaving the room and walking down the hall. Opening the next door, she let the light from her wand die, so as not to wake the occupants.

Kneeling down at the head of the bed closest to her, she whispered, “Harry—Harry?”

It wasn’t the first time she needed him in this way, and she knew it likely wouldn’t be the last. Harry cracked open his eyes, and rather incoherently mumbled, “Hermione?”

“Scoot over?” she pleaded, and he immediately obliged, opening the blanket for her to slide in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Noticing she was shaking, Harry put his arm around her body, holding her close.

“No,” Hermione pressed her back into his chest, trying to calm her breathing, as he rubbed his hand along her arm.

“Okay,” he sighed deeply, and Hermione felt so weak. She hated that she needed this. They had all been through unimaginable terror, why was she the only one suffering from it still? Her mind went back to a conversation she had with Harry one of the nights she had come to him.

_“Hermione, it’s not weak to need someone.”_

_“I don’t see you crawling into Ron’s bed every other night, Harry.” She sounded bitter, which made her hate herself even more. He was just trying to help._

_“Ron and I depend on you probably more than you’ll ever know, Hermione.” She hadn’t ever thought of it that way, and it actually alleviated her fears a bit to know that he was right. When she hadn’t answered him, he went on._

_“Friendship is a give and take, Hermione. You have to let us give when we can, because we take so much.”_

She knew she couldn’t tell him about the nightmare she had that night, because then she would have to explain things she wasn’t at liberty to disclose. So instead, she reached up to squeeze his hand, whispering to him.

“I’m okay, Harry. You can go back to sleep.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

Knowing that she needed his presence more than his active comfort, Harry let go of her hand, and rolled over so they were back to back. She lay quietly, listening for a couple minutes, his breath slowing as he fell back to sleep.

She did feel better, safer, being here with Harry, but Hermione knew she wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep yet. Not with the images of her dream still fighting to take her under. Feeling the rise and fall of her best friends breath against her back was calming.

She let her mind wander, and unsurprisingly, found herself wondering what Draco was doing. Not at this time— he was probably sleeping— but in a more general sense. She wanted to know what his days were like now. She wanted to know if he really was alright, or if that is just what he told her so she wouldn’t worry. Reaching for the coin around her neck, Hermione hardly thought about it before she sent the message.

_Hi_

She smiled at the greeting they both now used, and thought back to when she had given him the Galleon, and he originally thought it was just charmed to say “hi” when he looked at it.

_It’s late. Why are you up?_

Pouting at the coin she thought, _Why am I up? Why is he up?_ Sending her reply quickly, she knew she didn’t need to elaborate.

_Nightmares._

_Are you alright?_

_Yes. I’m with Harry._

_Potty is awake too?_

_He’s sleeping._

_You’re just watching him sleep?_

She didn’t reply right away. She closed her eyes, and felt embarrassed again, about needing Harry this way. Part of her knew Draco would understand, but another part of her didn’t want to admit that weakness. Especially to someone who dealt with so much worse. Eventually, because she didn’t know what else to say, she went with the truth.

_It helps, not being alone. After Dolohov… there were a lot of nightmares._

The coin heated in her hand again almost immediately.

_Yeah. Get some sleep, Granger._

Reading that stung. It’s not like you can read tone in a message, but the way she read it, it stung. Already emotionally raw from the nightmare, Hermione put the necklace back under her nightshirt, which was coincidentally Harry’s old jersey, and she turned to face him.

Her small rustle in the bed must have registered to the sleeping boy, because he turned toward her as well, throwing an arm over her waist, and Hermione needed no more invitation to take what she needed from him. Nuzzling her head into his chest, she closed her eyes tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. She stayed like that, snuggled into his chest, welcoming the feeling of safety that her best friend provided.

xXxXxXx

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she could tell it was early by how dark the room still was. She lay still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the boys’ breathing, before she uncurled herself from Harry’s side, and quietly slid out of the bed. The floor was cold on her feet as she made her way out of the room, and down the hallway into Ginny’s. She saw her friend still asleep in bed, as she quietly crawled into her own. Pulling the covers up to her chin, Hermione struggled to fight the chill of her lonely bed, even while she was feeling fortunate to have woken up early enough to slip out of Harry’s bed before Ron noticed she had stayed there all night.

Ron was quite a heavy sleeper, thankfully. He knew that Harry had comforted Hermione the few nights she had stayed in the Hospital Wing while recovering from Dolohov’s attack, but he had no idea that she had snuck up to their rooms nightly until the term ended, seeking the solace she found when sleeping next to her best friend, a boy who was almost her brother. To her knowledge, no one but Harry knew that she had spent almost half her nights in the boys’ dormitory for the first part of the following year, and then at least once a week until just a couple months ago.

She had finally stopped having nightmares— or at least needing to seek comfort from them— right about when constant near burning pain from her cursed scar faded into a manageable dull ache. And now here she was, nightmares returned, now due to an entirely different, but still frightening source. She was hoping Harry wouldn’t ask about her sudden need for him again, not wanting to have to lie.

Closing her eyes, Hermione settled on at least resting until the other occupants of the house began to rise. Sleep wouldn’t come again, and she knew that.

Luckily the sun rose faster than she had been expecting, and soon she was able to hop into the shower without fear of disturbing sleep before it was acceptable to do so.

When she had dressed and emerged from the bathroom, she saw Ginny leaning on the doorframe to her bedroom, apparently waiting for her.

“Morning, Ginny.”

“Where were you last night? I woke up and your bed was empty.”

“I, uhm—”

“Are you about to lie to me, Hermione Granger?” Ginny’s tone was almost accusatory, and Hermione realised that no matter how many times she said there was nothing between her and Harry, there would be seeds of doubt. Especially with how affectionate their relationship was.

Walking past the young witch, Hermione entered the shared room, and turned to her friend.

“Shut the door, Ginny.”

xXxXxXx

After swearing the girl to secrecy, it hadn’t taken much time to explain the reason for her absence. Ginny had admitted she had harboured insecurities about Harry and Hermione’s _intimate_ relationship, and Hermione had visibly recoiled at the word, which had Ginny laughing, and feeling much more at ease about everything.

Apparently when you’re interested in someone, the mere mention of being intimate with them wouldn’t make you look like you were about to lose your lunch, and that was enough to convince her that Hermione _really_ had no interest in Harry.

One thing Hermione loved about Ginny was that she wasn’t one to pity, or let you wallow. Once she had found out that her friend had been plagued by nightmares for almost a year, so much so that she needed physical comfort after waking from them for months after, the young witch just looked at Hermione, and said:

“My lips are sealed. As long as you are only sleeping next to him, and not sleeping _with_ him,” she smirked, “then we never have to mention this again.”   
  
“Thanks, Ginny. I just— admitting weakness is hard.”

Ginny hugged her friend, and the girls reluctantly trudged downstairs to drown their hangovers in wedding preparations.

xXxXxXx


	11. Festivus Interruptus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K. 
> 
> Only possible because my amazing beta, **Dreamingofstars85** , keeps me on track and sane!

 

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**Festivus Interruptus**

The days that followed were filled with cleaning, de-gnoming, matching ribbons to wedding favors, and, for the trio, planning. Or at least trying to. Mrs. Weasley kept them so busy that they hardly had time alone. On Monday, she had caught the trio in the kitchen, and rounded on them.

“What is this I hear about you three thinking you’re not returning to Hogwarts next year?”

“Mum, if you’ve heard that much, then you’ve also heard that it’s something between Harry and Dumbledore, and there’s no talking us out of it.”

“But Ronald, you’re—”

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry started. “Ron and Hermione don’t have to come, but Dumbledore gave me specific instructions, and it has to be me. I’ve got to do this.”  
  
Putting a han on her hip, Molly was just about to open her mouth, when she was interrupted.

“Molly, I am sorry that you disagree with our plan, but it’s been decided. Harry has a mission from Dumbledore, and there is no way Ron or I are letting him go alone. It cannot wait.” Hermione’s tone was stern and final, and Mrs. Weasley looked taken aback at being spoken to so defiantly, especially by Hermione.

After that confrontation, she continued to keep the three busy, giving them task lists that would take them the whole day to complete, and leave them exhausted by supper. They found themselves heading to bed much earlier than usual, and slacking in finalising their plans.

xXxXxXx

By Wednesday, final wedding preparations were in full swing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were tasked with feeding and herding the chickens— hiding them away from guests, while the twins de-gnomed the garden, again. Mr. Weasley was working on making sure the wards around The Burrow would let invited guests Apparate in and out tomorrow, without opening completely to strangers. Mrs. Weasley herself was spending most of the day in the kitchen, preparing as much of the food as she could so there would be less work in that department tomorrow. Ginny had gone along with Fleur and her little sister to get fitted for their dresses one last time.

Mrs. Weasley had asked Harry what he was wanting to do for his birthday, but with everything going on, and not wanting to put more on the frazzled woman’s plate, Harry had said a regular dinner together would be perfectly fine. The matriarch has fussed a little before conceding, but only after making him promise to let her at least invite Sirius, Remus and Tonks. Harry told her that sounded wonderful, but not to make a big fuss. She smiled warmly at him, patting his cheek before hurrying off to finish one task or another.

By late-afternoon, when Hermione knew that neither Harry nor Ginny had broached the subject of their drunken kiss, she pulled Harry aside.

“Harry, Merlin! It’s been days. Why haven’t you talked to Ginny?”

“Hermione, we can’t be together. I don’t want her thinking otherwise— getting her hopes up.”

“Harry James Potter. From what I hear, you thoroughly snogged the girl. Her hopes are pretty high already.”

Harry dropped his head in his hands, then ran them down his face.

“I don’t know what to do, Hermione. I can’t be with her. It’s not safe. She’s already in enough danger just being associated with me. If something happened, if they found her, and knew how I felt about her— it would be bad, Hermione. It would be really bad. I just….I can’t do that to her.”

Hermione remained silent for a minute, looking at her best friend; wanting to tell him he was wrong, but knowing he was right. Eventually she just hugged him, hoping that would convey to him what her words could not.

They silently agreed the discussion was over, and went back to their never-ending task list, both a little more sullen than before.

Dinner that night was a festive affair. Molly had outdone herself cooking a huge meal, which had been moved outside due to the amount of people now residing in The Burrow. With Sirius, Remus, and Tonks coming along, there just wasn’t room at the kitchen table. Hermione had charmed streamers to hang in the trees, and Ginny had elongated the table to fit all the residents and guests. Mr. Weasley was still at work, so everyone was giving Harry well wishes, and chatting while they waited for him to arrive.

Remus and Tonks had brought him a book, though Tonks had made it clear that it was Remus’ choice, and had she been in charge of gift picking, it would have been much more exciting. Harry laughed and told her he was thrilled with  it—he actually really enjoyed reading books about Defense Spells.

Sirius had brought a bottle of Firewhisky, but informed Harry he had dropped it in the boys room already, so Molly wouldn’t see. Ron had given him a book earlier in the day, something about how to charm a witch; Harry had assumed it was the same one the twins had given to Ron. Hermione bought him a new sneakoscope, Fred and George had supplied him with loads of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, and Mrs. Weasley had given him a watch, which was apparently traditional for a wizard's seventeenth birthday. She tried to brush it off saying it was just a hand-me-down that used to belong to her brother, Fabian, but Harry had stopped her mid-sentence with a crushing hug, hoping to convey how much it meant to him. The watch, but also everything over the years— how she treated him as a son.

Mrs. Weasley had gone inside to fetch the cake after that, and levitated the giant snitch-shaped dessert onto the table. Harry had heavily praised her work, earning a thumbs up behind her back from Ron.

Just as the Weasley matriarch had wondered aloud about the location of her husband, a silvery patronus shot onto the table, opening its mouth and letting Arthur Weasley’s voice ring out.

“Minister is coming. On our way.”

The patronus dissolved into mist, leaving everyone staring at the empty space where it had been.

“Harry, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be here,” Remus looked nervous as he, Tonks, and Sirius stood. “I will explain later.” The three of them turned toward the fence, briskly walking away from the house before vanishing into the night. A faint crack could be heard as they Apparated away.

Everyone was still looking confused when a moment later they heard another crack, before Mr. Weasley and Rufus Scrimgeour could be seen walking toward the house.

“What—” Mrs. Weasley had started under her breath, but was unable to finish as her manners took over.

“Minister Scrimgeour, welcome,”

“Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Weasley,” he responded, looking around at the party festivities and then stopping on Harry, adding, “Happy birthday. I need to have a private word with you, Mr. Potter.” turning to Ron and Hermione, “Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger, as well, if you will.”

“What is this about, Minister?” Mrs. Weasley had stepped forward, ever the protective mother.

“Official Ministry business, nothing to worry about.” he waived her off. “Arthur, do you have someplace more—private, where we can talk?”

Mr. Weasley led the four to the sitting room, where he was dismissed by the Minister, who then turned and looked at the trio.

“Okay, I think it’s probably best to do this separately. I have some questions for each of you.”

“You can either talk to all of us, or none of us. No one is leaving though.” Harry crossed his arms, while both Hermione and Ron nodded their heads in agreement.

“Alright then, fine. Together it is. I am here, as I’m sure you’re aware, because of Albus Dumbledore’s Will.”

“Wha— ow!” Ron was silenced by an elbow to the ribs from Hermione.

“Oh, so you didn’t know you were in his will? Interesting.” The Minister turned to his case on the couch and ruffled through some papers, pulling one out.

After clearing his throat, he read: “‘The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’ ahh, yes here, “To Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley, I am leaving my Deluminator, in hopes that he will remember me when he uses it.’”

Handing a silver, lighter shaped object over to Ron, Scrimgeour asked “Why would he leave such a unique and valuable thing to you? Were you especially close? What does he expect you to do with it?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Ron looked up at the man, “Put the lights out, I suppose.”

Shaking his head the Minister continued. “‘To Ms. Hermione Jean Granger, I will leave my personal copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, hoping that she finds both entertainment and instruction.’” Handing Hermione a tattered book, the Minister eyed her incredulously.

“Has he given you some sort of instructions, Ms. Granger? Why would he leave this to you?”

“I guess because he knew I liked books,” Hermione shrugged, giving him nothing more.

After another moment, he turned to Harry. “‘To Mr. Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught during his very first game of Quidditch. May he remember the rewards of perseverance and skill.’ Now that’s interesting, Mr. Potter. What on earth can you do with this?” he asked, handing Harry the little golden ball, seeming to wait on baited breath, looking for a reaction.

“I dunno, maybe remember the rewards of skill and—what was it?” he looked to Hermione, knowing she would have memorized it already.

“Perseverance,” she smiled at him, as he nodded his head in agreement.

“Right... so why would Albus Dumbledore leave these things to you? You are just three of the many, _many_ , children he taught. Did he have some sort of plan?” The Minister was clearly getting annoyed with the tight lipped responses he was getting from the trio.

“I dunno mate, but did you see that snitch cake my mum made? If they start digging into it before I’m—err, Harry, the birthday bloke, is present, there is going to be a problem. So, uhh— thanks for the things.” Ron held out the Deluminator, and stood, putting his hand out to shake Scrimgeour’s.

The man looked completely taken aback. Standing as well, he shoved the papers back in his case, rejecting the hand Ron held to him, giving Harry and Hermione a look that made it clear he did not trust them at all, before turning and walking out the front door.

“That was—” Ron started, but was quickly cut off by Hermione, who gave him a threatening look.

“Later, Ron.” She said, before taking Harry’s hand, pulling him toward the back door, “Let’s finish celebrating your birthday, Harry. We have to celebrate while we can.”

 _It might be your last._ No one said it, but there it hung, in the silence between them.

xXxXxXx

The party had been pleasant, if not a bit awkward after that. Mrs. Weasley had been very concerned about what the Minister for Magic had wanted with _children_. Mr. Weasley had reminded her that technically, they were all adults now, which had set the poor woman to tears. Ron tried to console her a bit, saying that she still had Ginny for a year or so, which just made her cry harder, knowing in just a year all her children would be grown. “Flown the coup!” she sobbed.

Mr. Weasley had taken her inside after that.

Fred and George brought out small scale fireworks they were testing for their WWW products, and the remaining Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione had enjoyed the show and light conversations, before calling it a night. Hermione had told Ginny that she had to have a quick word with the boys, and followed them into their bedroom, while Ginny padded back to her own.

Harry locked and silenced the door, reveling in the fact that he could now do magic whenever he well pleased, and the trio sat down alone for the first time since getting the objects from the Minister.

“What do you suppose he meant, leaving us these things?” Ron asked, pulling out the Deluminator and flipping the lid back. He clicked it one time, and the light from the lamp they had lit went out at once. Clicking it again, the light immediately returned to the lamp. Hermione sighed, not liking the feeling of uncertainty.

“I don’t know— we could have achieved that exact same result other ways…a quick spell, Peruvian Instant Darkness powder—”

“Our breath,” Harry chuckled, cutting her off.

“Honestly Harry, this isn’t a time for jokes,” she was smiling as she said it though, making both he and Harry chuckle at how ingrained that comment must be in her.

“Alright then ‘Mione. What do you suppose these are all for? The man left you a children’s book for Merlin’s sake!”

“I’ve actually no idea what this is, Ron,” she admitted, as she fingered the spine of the tattered book.

“What? Tales of Beedle the Bard? You’ve never read that one? Where have you been ‘Mione? All kids know those stories!”

“Raised by Muggles, Ronald.” Exasperated, Hermione turned the book over, and looked at Harry.

“I’m not sure about ours, Harry. But Snitches have a flesh memory. I was expecting it to open up when you touched it—”

“A what?” Harry asked.

“A _flesh_ memory. It's supposed to be so that during a game, if the refs aren’t able to determine who caught it first, the Snitch can. It’s never actually touched before you catch it, even the makers wear gloves when crafting them. It should have opened when you touched it—”

“Well, it wouldn’t then, would it? Open when I touched it. Don’t you remember that first game, Hermione?” Harry kept his eyes on her, but he didn’t miss Ron suddenly open his mouth looking excited, but no words coming out. He was practically bouncing in his seat, pointing from Harry to the Snitch and back again.

“Mate! You caught it in your _mouth_ that game!!” He finally sputtered out.

Gasping, Hermione looked at Ron, and back to Harry. “Well?!” she gestured between the Snitch and his mouth.

Harry slowly lifted the intricate golden ball to his mouth, and laid his lips across the surface. He left it there for one breath, before bringing it back down, looking dejected.

“Nothing happe—”

“Harry look! It says something!” Hermione shouted, pointing at the golden ball.

Reading it out loud, Harry said,

_‘I open at the close’_

He had just finished when the words vanished again.

“‘I open at the close?’ What does that mean?”

Neither Ron nor Hermione had any idea. No matter how many times they repeated it, how many different ways they said it, no one could get any meaning from the words.

Hermione startled when she felt a warmness hit her chest. Casting a _Tempus,_ she gasped. “Oh, I didn’t realize what time it was—”

“Are you okay, Hermione?” Harry asked her.

“I don’t know, Harry, I just don’t know. This is so maddening! I wish he would have left us some sort of instruction!” Shaking her head, she stood and walked toward the door. “We need to get some rest. It won’t do for any of us to oversleep tomorrow. Your mum would kill us.”

Agreeing, the boys said goodnight to Hermione, and she left them, rushing down the hall to the room she shared with Ginny.

She hadn’t expected the other witch to still be awake when she entered the room. Holding in a groan, Hermione walked over to her bed, and looked at Ginny.

“Hey, are you waiting up for me?”

“I want to know what you three are up to. I know you don’t plan on returning to school. And I know whatever it is, it’s probably dangerous. That’s why Harry won’t be with me, you know. He doesn’t think it’s fair, with what you’re all doing next.”

“Ginny, I can’t tell you—”

“Yeah, that’s what Harry said too. I had to ask, though.” Ginny sounded crestfallen, but accepting of whatever was happening.

“I’m sorry, Gin. Really, I am. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.” Hermione really did feel guilty.

She also felt like a drug addict whose next fix was just moments away. She knew Draco had sent her a message, but she couldn’t just leave Ginny like this. Holding in her whine, Hermione crossed over to Ginny’s bed, and sat down next to her friend.

“I don’t have any words of wisdom, or comfort here, Ginny. I can’t tell you that everything is going to be alright. I can’t tell you what we’re going to do. I can’t — Everything’s a mess Gin, and I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“I know, Hermione. It’s just — well, it’s all a load of bollocks.” the redhead pouted, laying her head on Hermione’s Shoulder.

The girls sat in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say, both knowing nothing they might say could make any of it better. Eventually, Hermione stood up, and walked to her own bed. After changing into her pyjamas, she crawled under the covers, and lay in the darkness.

When she finally heard Ginny’s breath slow, and was sure the other witch was asleep, Hermione ducked under her covers, lit a _lumos_ and pulled out her Galleon. When she tapped it to read the message, she was surprised to find not one but three waiting.

_Hi_

_Are you alright?_

_Hermione, where are you?_

Sighing, she sent him one back.

_I’m ok. Are you?_

His response was immediate.

_Where the hell were you?_

She hadn’t been expecting that.

_I couldn’t get away—_

_Merlin, Granger, I didn’t know what to think._

_Draco, I’m fine. I’m sorry._

_Okay._

And that was it. No explanation, no further conversation, nothing. _What the hell is that about_ ? She thought. She couldn’t figure this boy out. What was his endgame here? Why did he care that she was an hour late responding to him? It’s not like they actually _set up_ a time to communicate. It’s not like she was the one in the lion’s den. _Or the snake’s pit_ , she thought.

Rolling over in her bed, she sighed. What was she going to do about him? He hadn’t had much information to pass along yet, but they had only been home for two weeks now. She wondered, not for the first time, what it was exactly that he was being subjected to. What kind of horrors were commonplace in Malfoy Manor, and Draco’s life.

Pushing the thoughts from her mind, Hermione closed her eyes. She really did need to try and sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day; there was still loads of decorating and preparations to do before guests arrived, and Mrs. Weasley was sure to be in a right fit all day.

It took longer than she hoped, but eventually Hermione succumbed to her tiredness, and drifted uneasily, off to sleep.

xXxXxXx


	12. A Little Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K. 
> 
> >>So I have this amazing Beta, and she is just the bee’s knees. Love you, Dreamingofstars85 !!

 

 

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**A Little Secret**

The morning of the wedding brought complete chaos to the Weasley home. Hermione woke up well before her usual time — which was already fairly early — indicating that the already awake Mrs. Weasley had to have been up before the sun.    
  
The woman was knocking and banging on all the bedroom doors shouting at the occupants, and Hermione heard a loud  _ thump _ followed by “Ouch! Mum what the bloody hell?”    
  
Groaning, Ginny rolled over and faced Hermione, “I bet you five Sickles that was Ron falling out of bed.”   
  


Laughing, Hermione sat up. “I don’t make bets when I know I’m going to lose. That was most certainly your brother falling out of bed. He doesn’t do so well in the mornings.”    
  
The two girls giggled, heading to the bathroom to brush their teeth and ready for the morning.    
  
After getting dressed, everyone met in the kitchen for breakfast, which apparently, Mrs. Weasley had decided was also a perfect time to accost them all with her never ending to-do list.    
  
“Fred, George, I need you two to check the garden one last time. We can’t have any of those pesky little creatures roaming around with everyone here.”    
  
The twins saluted her, and each grabbed a muffin before walking out the back door to start pretending to de-gnome the garden for their mum’s sake. It had been done every day for over a week now, there were no gnomes left in that garden, and everyone except Mrs. Weasley knew that. 

“Harry, Ron, I’ll need you two to help set up everything outside. Chairs, tables, the dancing floor — Charlie and Arthur will be out there, just do whatever they say.”   
  
“Sure thing, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said between mouthfuls of sausage and eggs. 

“And you two,” she said, rounding on Hermione and Ginny, “You two will be helping me finish up the last minute decorating! There is so much to do still, I can’t believe we left so much for today!”    
  
The poor frazzled woman walked off then, and they all sighed as she rounded the corner.    
  
“If this wedding doesn’t do my mum in— ” Ron trailed off, looking after her.    
  
“Well, after today everything will settle a bit I suppose. So, as long as we make it through today, we should be able to relax.” Harry stated, as he picked up his water.    
  
Ginny stood up, tapping Hermione’s shoulder. “We should get started on this. The sooner we do, the sooner it’s over.”    
  
Chuckling, Hermione stood as well, and the two girls walked off toward the back room where Mrs. Weasley was busily finishing up last minute projects. 

xXxXxXx   
  


It was nearly one o’clock by the time the girls had finished up the wedding favors and decorative streamers. When Mrs. Weasley had checked the clock, she turned to Ginny saying she could finish up the last few, if they wanted to head up to get ready.    
  
Both Hermione and Ginny leapt out of their seats and raced up the stairs. Anything to get away from more wedding prep.    
  
When they had shut and locked Ginny’s bedroom door, both went to their respective beds and fell backwards, relaxing for a moment.    
  
“I suppose we really should start to get ready then. Mum says guests will start arriving at two, and we’ve got to help seat them all.”    
  
Hermione could almost hear Ginny’s eyes rolling.   
  
“Oh, it’s not so bad, really. We could be de-gnoming again.” Both girls giggled, and grabbing their dresses, headed into the bathroom to do their makeup and hair.    
Hermione had taken one look at the spread of brushes, lipsticks, and powdered pots of color that Ginny had laid out, and shook her head.    
  
“Ginny, you’re going to do this for me, right?”    
  
“Honestly Hermione, I thought that was a given.”    
  
Sighing in relief, Hermione sat on the little stool facing the other witch, and watched as Ginny picked out the proper shades and colors to — hopefully —  make her at least a little more presentable for this wedding. 

“I just don’t understand him, Hermione. Close your eyes.” she instructed, brushing something gold across her eyelids.    
  
“He likes you Ginny, he does. He’s just worried about — everything. He doesn’t want to hurt you.”   
  
“He’s hurting me by  _ not _ being with me, Hermione. He is being a complete wanker.” she was pouting now.    
  
“Oh, he’s not and you know it. He knows that his future is— ” looking down, Hermione cleared her throat sadly, “unclear. He doesn’t want to promise you something, promise you himself, if he can’t guarantee he'll be able to give it.”

“All the more reason for us to be together  _ now _ ! We might not be able to in the future! Isn’t there some muggle quote about that? I heard you use it before…”    
  
“ _ ‘It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.’  _ Yes, but I don’t think Harry feels the same way. I have a feeling he is more along the lines of the  _ ‘Sometimes love means letting go’  _ philosophy, here _. _ ”    
  
“That isn’t fair! He doesn’t get to unilaterally decide these things, Hermione!” she huffed, and brushed a little harder than she needed too.    
  
“Ow! Gin, you need to talk to Harry about this, not me—”

“I know, I just— I don’t want to hear him say it,” she sighed, kneeling down in front of Hermione.    
  
Placing her hands on the girl’s shoulders, Hermione gave a gentle pat before continuing. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I wish I had more to tell you, but, I don’t know— it’s not like we live the safest lives. I understand where he is coming from. He doesn’t want you to lose him.”    
  
Ginny laughed bitterly, “I’d be losing him, whether we are together or not.”    
  
The girls remained silent for a while. Ginny stood up, and continued working on Hermione’s face, not making eye contact, and Hermione was all too happy to close her eyes, trying not to think of what exactly their future would hold. 

Once she had applied more makeup than Hermione had ever worn in her life, Ginny set to work on her hair. Styling it into a classic twist, she left a couple curls hanging down framing Hermione’s face. She then set to work on her own hair and makeup while Hermione stepped into her dress. The pair had each decided not to mention their depressing conversation again.    
  
Standing together in front of the mirror, fully dressed, they grinned at each other.    
  
“Ginny, I can’t believe you managed  _ this _ ,” she gestured down her body, “out of me. Thank you,” she paused before smirking, “and I can’t believe you’re wearing  _ that _ .”    
  
“I think it’s quite flattering. I bet Harry’s going to like it.” she smirked, before turning around and looking at her backside. 

Ginny’s dress was a deep burgundy, that fell just above the knee. It was flowy, made of a sheer type of material, and it fit her quite nicely. Her mum was going to have a fit at how low the deep v neckline went though. It was a fairly thin slit, meaning not  _ a ton _ of skin showing, but it went so low she couldn’t wear a bra with it. Hermione would never be confident enough to wear something like that. 

Hermione’s dress was much more to her own taste, and looking at Ginny’s dress had her feeling so thankful she didn’t let her friend choose her outfit today. A simple, knee-length, fitted black dress, trimmed in lace at the hem, and across the top. It was sleeveless, and ruched at the side, but altogether very classic looking, and  _ modest _ , while still flattering her figure. She had a fleeting curiosity about what Draco would think, but quickly shoved it away, before turning back to the mirror. 

After thoroughly examining their appearances, both girls stepped into their heels — Ginny’s a plain black pair, and Hermione’s a bold red — and walked downstairs to get ready to help seat the arriving guests. 

The boys were sitting on the couch when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Apparently the Weasley matriarch was either giving them a break, or had no clue they weren’t working. Probably the latter, knowing how stressed Molly was today. 

“Wow, Gin, you look — You look great.” Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the redhead, and stood, speechless, to greet her. 

Winking at the dazed look on his face, Ginny did a little twirl, and playfully shrugged her shoulders, “Aren’t you sweet.” was all she said before sashaying off to the location guests would be arriving at.    
  
“Did you see her?” Harry’s eyes followed Ginny as far as they could before she disappeared from view. “She looks— good.”    
  
“Oi! Mate, that’s still my sister!” Ron said peevishly, watching as Harry eyed Ginny.    
  


“Oh come off it you two. She looks lovely, now let’s go.” Hermione squeezed between them, walking after her. Guests would be arriving any moment now, and they all had jobs to do.

Once she was out of earshot, Ron turned to Harry. “Hermione looks, wow— I didn’t know she could look like  _ that. _ She’s fit!” Ron said under his breath.    
  
The two remained frozen in place, looking after the girls until they heard nervous shouting from the kitchen. They didn’t even look over their shoulders at the noise before scurrying after Ginny and Hermione, hoping not to get caught standing idle by Mrs. Weasley. 

xXxXxXx   
  


Once the guests started to arrive, things moved quickly. It was an easy task, seating them, and it also kept the trio busy with idle chatter. Ginny had been called back inside for bridesmaid duties, and Hermione had been spotted by Mrs. Weasley and asked to help with something or other inside. That left Harry and Ron to seat guests, alongside Fred and George. Harry had taken a Polyjuice Potion, and was now identical to a redheaded boy from the village not far off. One of the twins had stolen a few hairs from the unsuspecting boy. The plan was to introduce Harry as “Cousin Barney” and hope the mass of Weasley relatives would camouflage him. 

When Remus and Tonks arrived, they walked right up to him. “Wotcher, Harry,” Tonks whispered to him. “Arthur told us you were the one in the blue shirt.”    
  
“Sorry about last night, Harry,” Remus added. “The Ministry is being very anti-werewolf these days, and I thought my presence wouldn’t look good for you, so— ” he trailed off.    
  
“It’s fine, I get it.” Harry gave him a reassuring smile as he led the two to their seats.    
  
Once everyone had been seated, there was a light chatter buzzing through the crowd. Bill had gone to stand at the top of the aisle, next to the Ministry Official, and was looking very debonair, Hermione thought, as she sat next to Harry and Ron waiting for the ceremony to start.  

When the music started, everyone rose and watched Fleur, escorted by her father, walk down the aisle to Bill, to her happiness. Of course she was a beautiful bride; her hair was done up perfectly, the tiara from Aunt Muriel resting on top. Her dress was simple but stunning, and the little jewelry she wore perfectly set the ensemble off. 

It was a beautiful ceremony, with commitments of love, laughter, and life. Hermione had tears when they promised to stand by each other’s sides, in darkness and in light. She had never seen a binding ceremony before, and was mesmerised when the cords wrapped around their wrists, glowing gold as the old magic bound them together. 

By the time they kissed, you were hard pressed to find a dry eye in the crowd; something about love, and promises, and starting a new life together, in this bleak and dark time of war. Not for the first time, Hermione wondered whether or not she would make it through the war; wondered if she would ever get to have this kind of happiness. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she stood and wiped the tears from her face, clapping with everyone else as the newly married couple walked down the aisle together.

xXxXxXx

When everyone had gathered underneath the marquis and champagne glasses had been passed around, a toast was made to the happy couple, and people started surrounding Bill and Fleur offering their congratulations. 

There were tables and chairs set up around the outer area, and a large dancing floor in the middle. Music rang out across the party, and smiling faces were seen all around. Hermione watched as Fred and George spiked the punch, and then sauntered over toward her and the others. 

Handing her a glass of the punch, Fred looked at Hermione and gave her an approving smirk.    
  
“Well well well, George, do you see our little Hermione, all dressed up--”

“All dolled up,” George winked at her.    
  
“You look ravishing, dear Hermione. Dance with me.” Fred continued, bowing to her. 

Blushing, she took his hand, and a large gulp from her punch glass, making face, before handing it to Ron, then allowed Fred to escort her to the dance floor.

“Ugh.” Ron scoffed turning to Harry.

“Oh, Wonnikins, you don’t like a little healthy competition?” George teased. 

“You two tossers are not competition—” Ron started, before amending, “There is no competition, I am  _ not _ in a competition.”

“Oh, so you won’t mind if we dance with her all night then.” George smirked wickedly before turning and sauntering off in the direction Fred had led Hermione.    
  
Fred had taken Hermione right to the centre of the dance floor, and placed one hand in hers, resting the other on her lower back. He began to sway her to the music, while grinning down at her.    
  
“My oh my, Hermione. Have I told you lately how utterly delectable you’ve become?”    
  
“Fred, honestly,” she rolled her eyes at his antics, noting that he was actually a decent dancer. 

“I am being nothing  _ but _ honest, gorgeous. You must be the most beautiful witch at this soiree.” 

Hermione was definitely blushing. She didn’t know how to respond to him, even though she was sure he had to be teasing. She decided silence was her best option, and crossed her fingers, figuratively, that the song would end soon. 

“Oh the silent treatment, is it? I will win your heart, lovely maiden, just you wait and see.” He spun her in a little circle, and as the song  _ finally _ ended, Hermione noticed that he was still grinning at her.    
  
“Is this some kind of bet, between you and George? I know you aren’t actually interested in me — it’s okay to tell me,” she tried to sound convincing, but Fred just smiled at her, and brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her fingers.    
  
“No bets, beautiful.” with that he released her hand and sauntered off toward George, who was standing watching them at the edge of the dance floor. Hermione shook her head and walked over to the punch, deciding she most certainly needed more of the alcohol that was in there if she were going to deal with  _ that _ all night.   
  
She filled her cup and drank it down quickly, noting that the twins must have put some kind of taste altering charm in as well, because she almost didn’t taste the alcohol. If she hadn’t known it was in there, she would have put it off as an off batch of punch. Filling her cup again, Hermione watched other couples out on the dance floor. Everyone looked so happy, and she was so lost in that thought, that she didn’t hear someone come up to stand next to her.    
  
“You look lovely tonight, Hermione.” Remus Lupin stood next to her, holding his own cup of punch, smiling out at the crowd.    
  
“Thank you, Remus.” she blushed again— _ why was everyone noticing her tonight? _

“You out to be careful with this punch, you know the twins have spiked it, right?” he asked her, casually.    
  
“Yes, that’s actually the reason I’m drinking it.” She laughed, finishing off her cup. 

“Is everything alright?” Remus turned to her, seeming to examine her for some cause of distress.    
  
“Oh, yes, it’s fine, Remus. Just— nothing. Nevermind. Beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?” embarrassed at her slip, Hermione refilled her glass again, and hoped he would let her change the subject.    
  
“It was, very lovely.”    
  
There was a comfortable silence between them for a few moments as they watched the dancers end their twirling when the music changed.    


“Care to dance, Hermione?” he had turned to face her, and held out his hand.    
  
“I would love to, Remus.” Setting her cup down, she took his hand and followed him onto the floor. 

Hermione had always liked Remus. He was a steady soul, never truly wavering. He was comforting, and sturdy— and always appropriate, she thought when she caught a glance of Sirius at one of the tables. 

While Remus was— let’s be honest— making her look graceful, Hermione was thinking about the ceremony. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to share that magical bond with someone; what it must be like to be  _ that _ connected with another person. 

“ —ing’s different.” she caught the tail end of whatever Remus had been saying while she was lost in her thought.    
  


“Oh, what? Remus, I’m sorry. What were you saying?” embarrassed, she tried to focus harder on the man in front of her.    
  
Chuckling, he looked at her. “I was just saying that something is different with you. You smell— well, different. Did you know that there are things I can smell that are not— not something you would know were even smells to smell…?”   
  
“Well, I knew your senses were stronger yes, but—”    
  
“You’ve, uh—  changed, scent-wise.” he said awkwardly. Hermione stepped slightly away from Remus, furrowing her brows in confusion, but he simply took a step toward her and continued their dance.   
  
“What— Remus, what?” 

“Secrecy has a distinct, and powerful scent, Hermione, and it’s all over you.” Remus looked almost apologetic, but certain in his assessment. Hermione’s heart began beating faster, and she was suddenly very nervous. 

“I— Remus, I can’t...it’s not —” She felt nervous, and uncertain, and incredibly vulnerable for some reason.

“Minerva told us you had been given a particular, and  _ secret  _ assignment. Which is why I almost didn’t say anything. But there’s something else, and combined with the fact that you’re hiding a huge secret from everyone,  _ including _ Harry, it worries me.”   
  
“Remus, I don’t— this is a bit ridiculous,”

“Bonds are a funny thing, Hermione.” he continued, seeming unphased by the awkward conversation, and suddenly distressed girl in his arms. “Did you know that I could sense—  _ see _ — Bill and Fleur’s bond, before it became magically sealed?”

“No, I didn’t know that, how can you  _ see  _ a bond?” 

The song had ended, and Hermione stood staring up at Remus, almost frozen. Part of her was afraid of what he was getting at, but another part, the larger part, was curious. She never could turn off her need for knowledge, and this was something she didn’t know, and couldn’t read about. She was more than intrigued. 

Instead of explaining right away, he gently guided her off to the side, in a lesser lit corner of the marquis, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. In the shadows there, he continued.    
  


“When I became an Alpha, I could suddenly see the bonds connecting people. Like little strings, reaching out toward each other. Almost like your auras are reaching out, trying to connect. When you stand next to someone you’re bonded with, it’s almost as though you are enveloped by one aura, rather than two.”    
  
Hermione was fascinated at Remus’ words. “So, what happened when you watched Bill and Fleur take the marriage bonds? Did it change? What—” she was talking very quickly, and Remus held up a hand to quiet her.    
  
“Since Bill and Fleur were bonded by emotion, they already shared an aura when standing next to each other. When they took the marriage bonds, that bond became stronger, not only in the bond itself, but in how it projects itself. I can tell, for instance a marriage bond from a familial bond.   
  


“You and Harry, for instance. When I look at either of you, I can see the bonds reaching toward wherever the other one is. I can tell that you two have a close bond, closer than just friendship, but not marital either. I finally realised it’s very firmly a familial bond, which confused me at first, since as we both know, you aren’t family. The explanation I’ve come up with is we can create familial bonds, just as we create other bonds. Family is who you choose.”

“Harry and I are family?” the idea made her feel so validated, in her need for Harry, her best friend— _ her brother _ .    
  
“According to how you feel about each other, yes.”

Hermione turned toward the group and easily spotted Harry, standing with Ron and Ginny. She smiled, seeing them all so happy and at ease.    
  
“Hermione, that’s what this is all about though. You— I can see that you have another bond, but I can’t see who it’s with. It’s no one here, I’ve been watching you all day; the bond just keeps reaching out for someone. What does Minerva have you doing? I’m worried, Hermione.”

Hermione reached up and absentmindedly touched her coin, under the neckline of her dress. She was still looking out at Harry, trying to decide how to scoot around this disastrous topic Remus had chosen.   
  
“Remus, do you trust me?” she turned to face him, and waited for a response.    
  
“I do, Hermione, I’m just worried a—”

“If you trust me, you will listen when I tell you that what Professor McGonagall has me doing is not something to be concerned about. I am simply following orders— they aren’t even dangerous ones. I won’t lie to you, I do have a new— friendship, but you have nothing to be concerned about.” 

“Hermione, bonds like what I see coming from you, friendship bonds don’t—  I shouldn’t even be able to  _ see _ that bond. I can hardly see a bond between you and Ron, or Ginny, and you’ve been friends, best friends, with them for years.”    
  
“Remus, I am not at liberty to tell you what I am doing, which means I cannot tell you how or why you are seeing the bonds that you are. What I can tell you, is that some of those secrets you say you can smell, well, they don’t all have to do with what I am doing in the Order. And this friendship I’ve found, well it affords a lot more understanding of some of those,  _ personal _ secrets, than I could get with even Harry. Please, drop it Remus. I can’t, and won’t, tell you any more than that.” she ended with a note of finality, but seeing the worry etched across Remus’ face, she reached out, gently placing her hand on his arm.    
  
“I’m alright, Remus, really.” She looked him in the eyes and spoke softly, truthfully, before she smiled and turned away from him. 

Walking back toward Harry, she watched as he asked Ginny to dance and the two swept away together.    
  
“Those two are going to give Weasley’s a bad name,” she chuckled as she approached Ron, “Ginny shouldn’t be dancing like  _ that _ with her cousin.”    
  
“Ginny shouldn’t be dancing like that with  _ anyone, _ if you ask me.” he grunted.    
  
“She’s practically grown, Ronald. She can do as she pleases.” Hermione gently scolded him, still smiling though, as she found the protective brother in him endearing.    
  
They stood together watching the couple dance for a few moments, but were soon interrupted by George and Fred.    
  
“Hermione, lovely lady, you were whisked away before I had a chance to whisk you!” George held out his hand.    
  
“You two are going to be the death of me, I swear,” she took his hand and let him lead her onto the floor.    
  
George twirled her around for a bit, and she actually found she was having a wonderful time. He was an excellent dancer, and all she had to do was let him lead. By the end of the song, she was laughing wholeheartedly at his quips, and had stopped blushing every time he mentioned how lovely she looked. 

“George, do you mind if I cut in?” Fred had swept in and taken George’s place holding her, quite expertly, and she was now spinning away in his arms.    
  
“I can’t let him have all the fun, now can I darling? I  _ am _ the better looking one, anyways.” he winked.   
  
“Fred, you two are identical,” she was laughing at his antics, still enjoying herself.    
  
“Ahh, you wound me so, fair maiden!” Fred threw his head back in mock heartbreak, and Hermione giggled at him.    
  
“George!” He hollered over her shoulder.    
  
A short moment later, Hermione jumped as George’s voice came from over her shoulder. “Fred! Need me to take this wonderful creature off your hands?”    
  
“Absolutely not, brother! Though she just told me that she did not, in fact, think I was the more handsome twin!”    
  
“Well, she’s right there,” George teased, placing his hands on Hermione’s hips, from behind her.   
  
“George, Fred, you two are very sweet, but this is getting a bit ridiculous. Jokes over boys.” Hermione chuckled, as the boys began practically dancing with each other, engulfing her between them.    
  
“Oh darling,” Fred started,    
  
“Who said we were joking?” George finished.    
  
“Oh honestly you two—”   
  
“Fred and George Weasley, you leave that girl alone now!” Muriel’s voice startled the three of them, as she walked up toward the dancing catastrophe they had become. 

“Fred, I’m parched. Go get me some more of that spiked punch you boys provided. George, come dance with your old Aunt Muriel, everyone else is too afraid to.” she commanded, and the twins snapped into action. No one disobeyed Aunt Muriel. Being on the wrong end of her temper was not something one wanted to play with.

As George walked to take Muriel’s arm, Hermione smiled, “Thank you, Muriel.”

“Watch your tone, little witch. You should have been more than pleased that a Weasley was willing to sully themselves with you!” Muriel spat.   
_Ahh,_ _yes, and that’s why everyone detested Aunt Muriel. She was not a complete blood purist, but her own relatives were not fit to marry muggle-borns._ Shaking her head, Hermione walked toward a bench near the shadowy part of the marquis, wanting a moment for herself.

  
Feeling relieved to sit in the quiet, Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the music and the chatter surrounding her.    
  
She nearly fell off the seat when Sirius spoke.

“Hey kitten,” his easy smile, and charming nature had always given Hermione butterflies, and after she recovered from the shock of being interrupted, she felt those familiar butterflies take flight.  

“Hi, Sirius.” 

“Remus tells me you’ve got a little secret you appear to be hiding, even from Harry. I’m here to find out what it is.” He had scooted nearer to her on the bench, throwing an arm around her shoulders. He was so close their thighs were touching. 

She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Sirius.” Why did this man make her so nervous? He was Harry’s godfather for Merlin’s sake!  _ But he was incredibly handsome, and alluring. _

Shutting that thought process down, Hermione instead decided it would be a good idea to check her mind and make sure it was still fully Occluded. Draco would hex her if he knew how relaxed she had been with checking that lately.

“So, you’re telling me that under your shirt, right  _ there _ ...” he touched her chest, right in the middle, exactly where the coin hung, and she flinched, but also blushed furiously. “That’s what I thought, kitten.” He chuckled at her telling reaction. 

“Sirius, I don’t know why Remus told you what he did, or exactly what he told you, for that matter, but he shouldn’t have, and honestly, even if I do have a secret, it’s none of your business.” 

“Oooh, kitten has claws.” Sirius’ smirk grew even wider. “Alright then, if you want to keep your secret boyfriend a secret, by all means—”

She could feel the effects of the spiked punch, and it was just the bit of liquid courage she needed in this moment. So after looking pointedly in his eyes, Hermione squeezed Sirius’ thigh, and stood, taking a step away before turning around, and smirking widely at him. 

“For all you know,  _ handsome, _ it could be a girlfriend.” 

Walking away, she made sure to sashay, just a little.

_ Let him stew in that, _ she thought.

xXxXxXx

Hermione had made her way back to Harry, and firmly attached herself to his arm, hoping not to be dragged away again. The twins, Remus, Sirius— she didn’t want to deal with any more of that. Harry had seen her face when she walked back to him, and immediately handed her his punch.    
  
“You doing alright?” he asked, holding out his hand for her.    
  
She took it, and he spun her around once, then rested his arm around her waist.    
  
“Yeah, are you?”    
  


Harry took a moment before responding, and the looked at Hermione sadly. “I don’t know what the future holds, Hermione. I don’t want to promise her something I can’t give.”    
  
“She knows that Harry, she does. She wants whatever she can get from you, for as long as she can have it.” Hermione leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder, as they watched Ginny dance with George, who had swapped with Fred on placating Muriel.    
  
When the song ended, Harry gently turned to Hermione, making sure she wouldn’t fall over when her head came off his shoulder. “Dance with me?” 

Smiling, she took his hand and followed him to the dance floor. The song was slow, and Harry held her close as they swayed to the music, enjoying the peace they felt in the moment. With thoughts of the war, and evil wizards pushed from their minds, they were able sink into the love and joy of this occasion, and just be teenagers for once.

When the song ended, Harry and Hermione stood, unmoving for a moment, until Ron walked up, breaking the daze they had been in.    
  
“Oi, Hermione, me next, yeah? I was just going to grab another cup of that punch first.” he walked off before her answer, and Harry chuckled at his friend.    
  
“Well, so much for hiding out with you the rest of the night,” she sighed, following Harry back toward one of the tables.

“Aw, it’s just Ron, it wont be that bad. It’s not Fred and George, that’s for sure.” he laughed at her face, and turned to pull the chair out for her. 

As she watched him turn away from her, Hermione felt the coin at her neck begin to heat, and she gasped. It was nowhere near eleven. Pulling the chain out at once, Hermione felt chills run down her spine.    
  
_ They’re coming. RUN _

“Harry—” just as Hermione opened her mouth to say something to Harry, a bright silver wisp came rushing into the marquis, landing in the center of the dance floor.

Bodies froze, while heads snapped toward the intrusion. The figure turned out to be a lynx Patronus, and immediately opened its mouth, as everyone gaped at it. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice rang out, deep and grave,    
  
“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”   
  
  


xXxXxXx


	13. Sitting Ducks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85  
>  **A/N:** I’m almost sorry about that cliffhanger… Almost! What’s the consensus, more cliffhanger endings, or nah? Thank you all for your lovely reviews! They honestly brighten my day, and keep me motivated, so keep them coming! This chapter is a bit long - Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

 

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**Sitting Ducks**

For a fraction of a second, no one moved. As the Patronus finished it’s warning, the lynx closed his mouth, and the whole thing disappeared as though the wind had blown it away. Once the smoky figure was gone, chaos erupted.    
  
“Harry! We have to— where’s Ron?” Hermione scrambled toward Harry’s outstretched hand, as people began shouting and bodies were suddenly running in every direction.    
  
“Ron! Ron!” both of them began yelling for their friend, trying to find him in a sea of panicked guests, many of whom were also redheads.    
  
Once Hermione had a tight hold of Harry’s hand, the two began to make their way toward where they had last seen Ron. Someone crashed into Hermione, and the only thing that kept her from falling down was Harry holding her up. He helped her right herself quickly before they continued.    
  
The cracking of disapparation could be heard, as people began to flee, and Harry had to suddenly duck as a bright light whizzed overhead.     
  
“What was—” before he could finish they both saw dark shadows spiraling down into the marquis, and that’s when the screaming began. They could hear curses being hurled into the crowd, quickly matched by the voices of the Order, sending curses right back. 

“Hermione! The wards must be down, those are Death Eaters!” Harry looked over his shoulder and shouted at her, panic clearly written on his face. 

If she hadn’t been afraid before, she was now. Looking over her shoulder at the black hooded figures throwing curses, she prayed to Merlin that Draco wasn’t under one of those masks. She couldn’t tell who any of them were— their bodies too obscured by their robes.    
  
Harry tugged violently on her arm, bringing her attention back to him, and their search for Ron. An older couple in their path disapparated away, and suddenly Harry was loosening his grip on Hermione, trying to run forward.    
  
“Ginny!” he screamed, as he caught sight of the girl, several meters away from them, terror etched on her face.    
  
Dropping her hand, Harry started to run toward Ginny.    
  
“Harry, you have to go!” Sirius yelled, as he caught his godson and spun him back toward Hermione.    
  
“Sirius, I have to— Ginny, she’s—” he couldn’t form a complete sentence, his overwhelming fear for the girl evident. 

“Harry, she will be fine, I will make sure she is fine! You have a job to do now!” Sirius gave Harry a slight push, and Hermione held her hand out to him again, taking it just as she felt someone clamp onto her other arm. Her heart nearly stopped until she heard a familiar voice shout out,    
  
“Hermione!” Ron gasped, just as she turned to look at him.    
  
Once Harry had firmly taken her hand again, she gave one last look at Sirius, who had just stunned an approaching Death Eater. “Good luck, kitten,” he smirked, turning his back to her and heading into the fight.    
  
Making sure both boys were firmly attached to her, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and felt a familiar whoosh of air leave her lungs as darkness pressed in on them.

xXxXxXx

As Hermione opened her eyes she could hear Ron take a gasping breath, clutching her arm tightly.    
  
“Where are we?” 

“Tottenham Court Road,” she said, looking around at the bustling street. She had apparated them to a little alleyway off the main road, and was now busily searching her beaded bag. “Ron, you need to change clothes.”    
  
“Shit, Hermione— there are Death Eaters at the Burrow! How did they get past the wards? We have to go back, we have to help—” Harry said in a panicked voice.    
  
“Half the guests at the wedding were Order members Harry, it will be okay. We can’t go back now. You’re the one they are after, it will only put everyone in more danger if we go back.” she tried reasoning with him, as she pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt for Ron, handing them over.    
  
“Hermione, how did you—?” Ron took the clothes with a questioning look.   
  
“Undetectable Extension Charm. I told you, I’ve been packed for days.”    
  
“Bloody hell, my cloak! I should have had my cloak on me! I carried it around everywhere last year, why didn’t I have it—” Harry was running his hand down his face in frustration.    
  
“I’ve got your cloak, Harry,” she interrupted, and shoved it into his hands. “I just— I had a feeling this morning that I should pack everything. Just in case.” 

“Bloody brilliant is what you are, ‘Mione.” Ron said, as he shrugged the sweatshirt on. Hermione turned her back to him as he put the jeans on, and then handed his robes back to her. She put them in her bag, pulling out a cardigan for herself.    
  
“Harry, put on the cloak. You can’t be seen.”    
  
“What’s the plan then, where do we go? We can’t exactly stay— Why here, Hermione? Why did you pick Tottenham Court Road?” Harry looked at her as he threw the cloak over his body. She watched it disappear, followed shortly by his head as he put the hood on.    
  
“It was the first thing that popped into my head. I’ve been here with Mum and Dad before. I thought we might be safer in a Muggle place— ”   
  
“Alright, so what next?” Ron asked as he walked to stand beside Hermione, redressed, and handing her his trousers.    
  
“We need to get off the street, and we need to come up with a plan. Let’s...” she paused, looking around. “Let’s head to a cafe, somewhere more— quiet.” 

  
Hermione and Ron walked side-by-side as Harry followed behind in the Invisibility cloak. Seeing an illuminated  _ Java  _ sign hanging up ahead, she turned them down a darkly lit side street. 

“Hey gorgeous girl, what are you doing with that bloke?” a man leered at her as they passed.

“Bugger off, mate.” Ron growled at him. Hermione quickened her steps.    
  
“Oh sweet thing, come get a drink with me, I’m sure I can show you a better time than the ginger!” 

Tugging Ron’s arm as he tried to turn back to the man, Hermione hissed, “Leave him, Ron. It’s not worth it.” 

  
“What an arse.” Ron mumbled, as he tucked her protectively into his arm.

“Arrggh!” Hermione whipped her head around just in time to see the man trip over his own feet, apparently, and hit the pavement.    
  
“What—” she started, but then heard Harry chuckling behind her.    
  
“Oh, would you look at that,” Harry whispered. “Looks like the bloke somehow tied his shoelaces together.”   
  
“Harry, that really wasn’t necessary,” she shook her head. “Some men have a way of thinking they can say whatever they want to women, most of the time it’s harmless. But, thank you.” She grinned at the empty space behind her where she knew Harry was walking.    
  
They made it into the cafe, and sat down at a booth in the back, Ron sliding in next to Hermione, so Harry could take the other side.    
  
“What can I get you two?” a waitress walked up to the table, smacking her gum, seeming absolutely uninterested in being there. 

“Nothing, thanks.” Ron replied without even looking at her.    
  
“Thank you, we’d actually all love— both, we’d both love a coffee.” Hermione smiled. Nodding her head the waitress walked away. There was no one else in the cafe.    
  
“Ok, we can’t stay out in the open for long, we need to come up with a plan.” Hermione looked pointedly across the table, hoping Harry would have an idea.

Ron was the one who answered though. “We could— the Leaky isn’t too far from here, you know. We could—” 

“What? Ron, we can’t!” she said exasperatedly at him. 

“Not to stay or anything, just...just to find out what’s happening!”    
  
“Well we know what’s going on, Ron! Voldemort has taken over the Ministry, there isn’t much more to know!” Harry whispered, sounding irked.    
  
“Ok, ok it was just an idea! Keep your knickers on, mate.” Crossing his arms, Ron leaned back in the booth, just as the woman returned with their coffees. She glared at Ron before placing them on the table and wandering back to the counter. They hardly noticed when the door to the cafe swung open, two men walking in and sat at a table near the door. Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper, and continued.

  
“We need to find someplace quiet, so we can apparate— somewhere, and come up with a real plan. Even in muggle London, I don’t like being out in public.”    
  
“What about Grimmauld Place?” Harry whispered. “Ever since  _ fucking Snape—  _ well, the location was compromised, so the Order can’t use it anymore. Sirius is staying at Lupin’s.”   
  
Hermione thought about it for a moment, before nodding her agreement, and reaching into her bag looking for some muggle change to pay. 

It was almost too late when Harry caught sight of the burly men standing, wands drawn.     
  
_ “Stupefy!” H _ arry screamed, just as one of the men pointed his wand and shouted  _ “Expulso!”  _   
  
Ron saw Harry’s wand emerge from under the cloak just in time to throw himself over Hermione, slamming them both into the bench of the table, as fragments of the broken wall above showered down on them.    
  
He quickly jumped off of her, pulling his wand out, and started throwing spells at the attackers.

  
_ “Flippendo!”  _ Ron yelled, hurling one of them back into a small table, which flipped on its side, knocking chairs over as well.

_ “Confundo!” _  Harry narrowly missed the second duler, who was quickly approaching them. He fired a spell back at Ron who fell backwards as ropes started twining around his body.    
  
_ “Stupefy!  _ Hermione shouted from under the table where Ron had pushed her down. The attacker hadn’t been prepared for a spell from that direction, and she hit him straight in the chest.    
  
Harry trained his wand on the second man who was shaking his head, trying to extricate himself from the tables and chairs he had fallen into.    
  
_ “Petrificus Totalus!”  _ Harry said, and watched the man go stiff as a board and fall back onto the floor.    
  
“Ron!  _ Diffindo _ ” Hermione pointed her wand at the cords wrapped around Ron’s body. Helping him to his feet, she looked at Harry.    
  
“You need to lock the door, and—” turning around to face the counter, she sharply inhaled. The waitress was laying on the floor, unconscious but clearly breathing. “We will have to Obliviate her.”    
  
“Ron, get the lights.” When he looked confused, she sighed, “Deluminator, Ronald.” 

“Oh, right!” He pulled the object out of his pocket, and quickly clicked it, the lights darkening immediately.   
  
“Right, help me put everything back to rights. We can’t leave this mess here.”  
  
As the trio began righting tables and chairs, and repairing broken objects around the small cafe, Ron looked at Harry.   
  
“What are we going to do with them? They’d kill us, if it were reversed.”  
  
Hermione was the one to answer, “We’ve got to Obliviate them as well. If we killed them, it would be obvious that we’d been here. Obliviating them may buy us some more time. Plus, I’d like to think we aren’t like them, we don’t— we can’t kill people in cold blood. Even enemies.”   
  
Once the cafe was put back together, Hermione walked over to the waitress first. Bending down, she put her wand against the girls temple, concentrated for a moment, and whispered, _“Obliviate”._   
  
She then repeated the process on the two Death Eaters, before telling Ron to restore the lights. Walking to stand between the boys, she held out her hands, and they both took one. Harry gave her a confirming nod, and then felt his body pushed into darkness for the second time that night. 

xXxXxXx

They arrived on the steps of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and quickly looked around, noting that the street the house sat on was completely empty. The three hurried to the door, where Hermione used her wand to unlock it. She pushed it open and the three stepped inside, stopping in the landing.    
  
“Do you think— well, we probably ought to check it out; make sure no one is here.” Ron said, wand out and cautiously peering around the dark room.    
  


_ “Homenum Revelio” _ Hermione whispered. When nothing happened, the trio made their way into the sitting room.    
  
“Whoa, mate, this place looks—” Ron started, looking around at the disheveled and ransacked room.    
  
“Someone’s been here. It looks like they were searching for something…” Harry trailed off, looking around the room. Papers were tossed everywhere, vases overturned and cracked.    
  
“We can’t stay here for long. Probably best if it’s just one or two nights.” Looking around, Hermione wasn’t so sure even one night was a good idea, but without another place to go, or a proper plan, it was all they had.    
  
A silver wisp suddenly entered the room, forming itself into a weasel Patronus. It opened its mouth, as Arthur Weasley’s voice rang out.    
  
“Family is fine. We’re being watched, do not contact us.” it echoed. As it finished, the weasel closed its mouth, and vanished as quickly as it had come.    
  
“They’re all right!” Ron sank down onto the couch, relieved to hear his family was all okay. Harry and Hermione sat down next to him, both visibly relieved as well.    
  
“Oh thank Merlin! Everyone is okay, everyone is okay.” Hermione felt a weight lift off her chest. At least their friends and family were alive, unharmed.   
  
“Alright, good. Ginny— they’re all, they’re okay, good. So— where do we go from here then?” Harry asked, and the three sat in silence, as none of them had an answer.    
  
After several minutes, Harry stood up abruptly, mumbling about having to use the loo.    
  
Once inside the bathroom, Harry locked the door before dropping to his knees, hands pressed tightly against his scar.    
  
He felt surges of anger and fury that were not his own race through his body. He saw flashes of people, of Death Eaters, cringing and sprawled on the floor. He heard Voldemort’s voice ring out, rage-filled, at his followers. He saw several bodies strewn on the floor, as Voldemort yelled. “ _ Where is the boy?! They were unprepared for an attack, how did we lose so many?!”  _ Harry saw Antonin Dolohov, who he recognized from the Ministry attack last year, kneeling at Voldemort’s feet.  _ “I don’t know my Lord.”  _ Voldemort seethed, turning to his side, and Harry saw Draco Malfoy standing there. He looked gaunt and grim.  _ “Again!” _ Voldemort commanded, and Malfoy’s face paled.  _ “Crucio!”  _  Malfoy said, as Dolohov fell over in agony.  _ “Bring me the boy!!!”  _ Voldemort screamed.    
  
When he opened his eyes again, Harry could hear Hermione banging on the bathroom door.    
  
“Harry! Harry, are you alright?! Harry!!” she sounded panicked, and Harry turned to reach up and twist the knob.    
  
She immediately dropped to her knees next to him, cupping his face with both hands.    
  
“Harry you were— you sounded like you were in pain, what happened!?” 

“My scar, it— I saw him, Hermione. He is not happy. He— He’s punishing his followers for failing.” Harry leaned into her embrace, and Hermione moved to wrap her arms around his body, holding him tightly.    
  
“What did he say, exactly, Harry?” she asked, letting him go.   
  
“He wanted to know where I was, why they had failed to bring me to him. He— there were bodies, I think of Death Eaters who died, at the Burrow. Oh gods, Hermione, we have to find out if everyone is ok!” he looked sickened, and Hermione knew he was thinking about Ginny.    
  
“They’re fine Harry, Mr. Weasley said they were fine. What else did you see?”    
  
“Dolohov was there, being tortured. Hermione, he Crucios his own followers!”    
  
“Okay, okay, it’s okay Harry,” she tried to calm him, as she sighed, leaning her head back toward the ceiling and closing her eyes. Thinking, trying to come up with a plan.    
  
“I thought you lost that connection with him, mate,” Ron questioned from the doorway.    
  
“He seems to it be able to control it when he’s angry. The bastard can’t even do his own dirty work, he had Malfoy standing there, Crucioing people for him.” Harry whispered. He hated Malfoy, but in that moment, seeing him like that, Harry felt a twinge of remorse for him.    
  
“He what?!” Hermione gasped. “What?” her eyes widened, and she felt her heart beat skyrocket. Breath whooshed out of her chest as worry crept through her. Realizing her mistake when she saw the look on Harry’s face, she composed her features and amended, “He’s so cowardly that he can’t even give out his own punishments?”    
  
Harry shook his head, agreeing with her. “Malfoy looked bad, too. He looked— sick.”    
  
“Who the fuck cares about Malfoy.” Ron grumbled, as he reached a hand out to help Hermione, and then Harry, to their feet. The three made their way back to the sitting room, where they pulled their wands and began putting the room back together. Once things were mostly restored, Hermione grabbed the sleeping bags she had packed from her bag, and set them on the floor, unrolling them.

She sat down on the middle one, and gestured for Harry and Ron to sit as well.    
  
“Harry, if you can see into his mind, that means he can probably see into yours. You need to get better at Occlumency.”     
  
“It’s not that easy, Hermione.” he sighed, looking at her. “I can’t exactly practice if I have no one to test me.”    
  
Sighing, Hermione looked at him, a little guiltily. “I, uh, grabbed a few books on it. I know it won’t be as good as when you were practicing with Snape, but we can at least review the basics.”    
  
“Yeah, sure Hermione.” Harry gave her a half smile, as he laid down in his bag. “We should get some sleep, I have a feeling we are going to need it.”    
  
Ron slid down into his bag as well, and Hermione used her wand to turn the lights off. The moon illuminated the room enough a bit, and in the partial darkness, she sighed, worrying about Draco. Shuffling through her bag, she pulled out pyjamas, and her toothbrush.    
  
“I’ll be right back.” she looked at Harry before standing and heading to the bathroom. Once she was inside, she locked the door, leaning back on it and sliding to the ground.    
  
She quickly pulled out her necklace for the first time since leaving the wedding. It immediately began flashing messages across the surface.   
  
_ Hermione? What’s going on? _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Where are you? _

_ What are these fucking coins for if you don’t answer? _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I need you to at least let me know you made it out. _

_ Please just let me know you’re okay. _

_ Hermione. _

_ Please. _

Sighing, Hermione tapped the coin, and watched her message appear briefly before it disappeared.    
  
_ We’re okay. I’m okay.  _

The reply came immediately.

_ WHERE WERE YOU _   
  


Seriously? What did he think she’d been doing? Playing around? Slightly annoyed she sent him not one but three messages, in quick succession.    
  
_ Wedding interrupted by DEATH EATERS.  _

_ We fled. Then we were attacked by more Death Eaters.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Sorry I didn’t have time between Stupefys to talk.  _

Huffing, she held the coin in one hand, and dropped her head into her other. It had been a long day, and Hermione knew that this was just the beginning. Feeling the coin grow warm again, she peeked at it.    
  
_ I’m sorry. I was worried. Are you okay? _

Sighing, she tapped it with her wand.    
  
_ I’m okay. They somehow found us in a Muggle cafe, but we’re fine.  _ _   
  
_

_ Don’t say his name! They put a taboo on his name.  _

Running the conversations they’d had before the Death Eater’s had found them through her mind quickly, Hermione remembered when Harry had said Voldemort’s name. Sucking in her breath, she knew it had been just before they had been found. She quickly tried to remember if they had said his name at all since getting to Grimmauld Place, and let out a deep sigh of relief. They hadn’t, she was sure of it. She had to somehow tell Ron and Harry not to say it, without it looking suspicious.    
  
_ Okay, thank you. Are you okay? _

_ I’m fine, Granger.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry said… he saw what you were being forced to do. He said you looked bad…  _

The coin didn’t heat up for a few minutes, and when it did Hermione was already impatiently staring at it.    
  
_ I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Hermione leaned her head back against the door, closing her eyes. She knew he wasn’t fine, but she didn’t know what else to say.    
  
_ Get some sleep Draco.  _

_ Stay safe.  _

Hermione put the necklace back on, and quickly changed into her pyjamas— black yoga pants and Harry’s old jersey— before brushing her teeth. Splashing some water on her face, she took a deep breath, before walking back to join the boys.    
  
“I was thinking, what if they put a trace on his name? You-Know-Who’s. I mean, we won’t be able to know for sure, but— they did walk through the doors right after you said it.” she paused, hoping that was good enough.    
  
“I don’t know, ‘Mione. I mean, maybe, but how can we be sure?” Ron asked.    
  
“Well we can’t, but better safe than sorry. Until we can confirm it, I think we should be safe.” she crawled down into her sleeping bag between the boys.    
  
“I think you’re right, Hermione. Better to not say it. Just in case.” Harry agreed with her, and then sat up enough to see Ron over her body. “I’m glad they’re okay, Ron. Everyone. They— well, you know I think of them as family.”    
  
“Yeah, I know. I’m glad too. Get some rest.”

Harry settled back down, and smiled at Hermione. Smiling back at him she reached out her hand. He took it, and mouthed to her ‘ _ It’s going to be okay’ _ . Hermione nodded her head, and closed her eyes. 

When she awoke a few hours later breathing heavily and shaking dreams of Rodolphus from her mind, Hermione scooted closer to Harry, needing his comfort. Her best friend opened his arm for her, letting her snuggle into him. She tried to relax in his embrace, and push thoughts of anything but sleep from her head. It was at least an hour before she was able to sleep again, and when she did, it was less than restful. 

xXxXxXx

Hermione was jolted awake the next morning by Harry, who was apparently trying to rattle her brain with his violent shaking.    
  
“Hermione, Hermione! Wake up!” 

She quickly sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes and reached for her wand, looking around the room for danger. 

“What’s going on Harry? Are you okay?” she asked nervously.    
  
“I think I know who R.A.B. is! Hermione, Regulus Arcturus Black!” he exclaimed, as Ron got to his knees, scooting closer to the conversation.    
  
“How did you figure that, mate?” Ron asked sleepily.

“Harry! Harry how did you— that fits! That would make complete sense! Sirius told me that he joined up, became a Death Eater really young, but that he ended up regretting it, and changed his mind. When he wanted to leave, well— you can’t leave. You join for life,” she finished quietly.   
  
“Right, and he had access to Vol— to You-Know-Who, and if he had switched sides, if he had changed his mind, he would have had a reason to want to bring him down. He could have easily switched them!” Harry was standing up and began pacing as Hermione and Ron climbed out of their bags.    
  
“Come on, his room is upstairs. That’s how I made the connection! We have to search it, see what else we can find!” Harry bolted toward the stairs, quickly followed by Ron and Hermione.

Upon entering Regulus’ room, Harry shuffled some papers around on the desk before pulling out his wand and saying “ _ Accio Locket.” _ When nothing happened, Ron grumbled, and Hermione mentioned there must be charms and enchantments on it, keeping it from being found with magic.    
  
“Oh great, how are we gonna find the damn thing then?” Ron sat down on the bed, which was covered in a deep green bedspread that matched the decor of the rest of the room.    
  
“You know, Muggles lose things all the time, Ron. We  _ can _ actually search for something without using magic.” Hermione said mockingly, as she began rustling through the trunk at the end of the bed.    
  
Harry tackled the desk, and Ron searched under the bed. They looked in the closet, and every little nook and cranny in the bedroom. After nearly an hour, Hermione slumped onto the bed, and looked at Harry.    
  
“I don’t think it’s here,” she admitted.   
  
“Where else could it be?” he asked, sitting in the chair at the desk. Ron just sat on the floor, and mumbled something about never wanting to search the Muggle way again.    
  
Harry was staring at an awful poster, some pureblood propaganda, when he turned to Hermione, a smirk on his face.    
  
“Remember when we were helping Sirius clear this place out? And we threw out a  _ ton _ of stuff? Nasty old Black family relics? Wasn’t there a locket in that pile?”    
  
“Oh my Gods, Harry! Yes!! There was! Oh shite, where did it go? Why didn’t I remember that!”   
  
“Wasn’t that in the pile of stuff Kreacher was crying over? Something about the Noble and most Ancient House of Black losing all its precious heirlooms? Bet he nicked a few things from there before Sirius got rid of it all, put some in that nasty cupboard of his in the kitchen.” Ron was already on his feet, heading out the door to see if he was right. 

Harry and Hermione looked at each other briefly, before both jumping up and following him down the stairs into the kitchen. He was already rummaging through Kreacher’s cupboard when they walked in, throwing what looked to be dirty linens on the floor.

“I don’t see it— just a bunch of tea towels in here. Shite, where is it?” he turned to look at them and sat back on his heels.    
  
“Kreacher!” Harry and Hermione called out at the same time, though Harry’s sounded more like a command, and Hermione’s a request.    
  
A faint  _ pop _ was heard, and Kreacher appeared in the kitchen, looking as surly as ever. He had his arms crossed, and he was glaring at them.    
  
“Mister Harry Potter, back in Mistress’ old house. Oh, poor Mistress! Kreacher should be happy she didn’t live to see this. Blood-traitors, traipsing around, putting their filth on Mistress’ things! Having the nerve to dirty her pure blood with their presence!” the little House Elf was muttering, not so quietly.    
  
“Kreacher! We have some questions for you. It's really important you answer them. And I know Sirius has ordered you to listen to me, so don’t try to pull anything.” Harry knelt down in the Elf’s line of sight.    
  
“Oh, Kreacher misses Mistress. Mistress would never have left Kreacher to listen to blood-traitors. No she would not!” 

Ignoring his outburst, Harry looked over his shoulder at Hermione, who nodded at him to go ahead. Turning back to Kreacher, Harry cleared his throat.    
  
“Kreacher, we have some questions for you. A few years ago—”

“Two years ago,” Hermione piped up.   
  
“Alright, two years ago, we were clearing out a bunch of the old relics here—”   
  
“Those were Mistress’ things! You had no right to get rid of them!” The elf was wailing now, shaking his fists. 

  
“Right, but there was a locket, a big gold locket. Did you keep it?” Harry finally finished.    
  


The elf crossed his arms, and determinedly stood his ground, not saying a word.    
  
“Kreacher you have to answer me. Sirius—”

“Master Sirius, Master Sirius,” shaking his head, an evil smile spread across his face. “Master Sirius was blasted off the Family Tapestry. He was not a good wizard, not like Master Regulus.”    
  
“Bloody hell Kreacher! You—” before he could say something to upset the elf more, Hermione cut him off. 

  
“Kreacher, please? It would be really helpful of you, and then we could get out of your hair, leave Grimmauld Place? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Plus, do you really think Regulus would want his locket with just anyone?” 

After a moment of contemplation, Kreacher looked up at her and nodded.    
  
“So you did take it?” she prodded.    
  
“Yes Missy. Kreacher had Master Regulus’ locket.” his voice broke as he spoke, and tears welled up in his eyes.    
  
“Great! Kreacher, where is it?” Harry quickly asked.    
  


“Where is it, Kreacher?” Hermione said more gently, mentally noting that the elf had addressed her formally.

  
“It’s gone!” Kreacher was wailing again. “Gone!”    
  
“What do you mean it’s gone? Where is it?” Harry shouted.

  
“That thief, Mundungus Fletcher, he came and he took it all! He took Mistress’ things, and Cissy’s and Bella’s, and he took Master Regulus’ things! Master Regulus’ locket! Thief took it all!” flinging himself on the ground he began banging his head on the floor, crying and screaming. “Kreacher  _ failed _ ! Failed Master Regulus!”    
  
At that the distraught elf made for the large pot on the counter. Once they realized what he meant to do, Harry and Hermione both yelled, “Kreacher, NO!” Harry bolted over to the elf, pinning him onto the floor, the pot clanging out of his hands.    
  


“Kreacher I forbid you from hurting yourself right now!” Harry shouted, as he struggled to keep the squirming elf pinned down. At that, Kreacher went still, and continued softly crying.    
  


“Kreacher, how did you fail? What did he ask of you?” Harry had him pinned down still.    
  
“Oh, Kreacher can’t. No Kreacher can’t tell you!” He sobbed.   
  
Deciding to test a theory, Hermione stood up and looked at Harry. “Why don’t you two go wait in the living room, I’ll talk to him. He seems pretty upset. Maybe one on one he will be more willing to talk.”    
  
Harry was noticeably annoyed at the elf, and luckily he agreed, motioning to Ron to follow him.    
  
“If he doesn’t talk to you, I’ll—” cutting him off before he could finish the threat, Hermione put up her hand and said, “Out!”

  
Before turning back to the elf, Hermione cast a silencing charm, to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. 

When she had turned back to face the elf, he was smiling widely at her.    
  
“Oh Missy is back! Missy  _ knows _ ! Kreacher can tell. Kreacher can see that Missy knows!”

“Why are you calling me that?” there was a pit in her stomach, she was afraid of his answer.  

“ _ Because _ , Kreacher knows just who Missy is, yes he does. He has been an elf for The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for a long time, Kreacher has. Kreacher remembers when Baphomet told of your birth, he does!” Hermione had never heard Kreacher speak like this— without malice. It was rather strange, and unsettling.    
  
“What do you mean, Kreacher? Who is Baphomet?”

“Baphomet is Kreacher’s friend, he is. He serves the Lestrange House. Fine House Elf, Baphomet.”    
  
“So you— this Baphomet, he knows about me too?” she asked.

“Of course Missy! Baphomet is the one who brought you to his Master, Rodolphus, yes he is! Hid you away, for your own safety, theys did. Missy Bella, she—” he suddenly stopped, and grabbed for the pot again. Hermione quickly took it out of his hands before he could use it against himself.    
  
“What about her, Kreacher?” she asked flatly, not particularly wanting to discuss the woman.

“Kreacher can’t speak poorly of Missy Bella. Mistress would not have it! Mistress loved Missy Bella, she did. Kreacher—”

“It’s alright, Kreacher. I know you don’t, uh, mean to speak badly of her. You can just tell me what happened. It's okay.” _ Trying to bring an elf down from self-punishment was a slippery slope,  _ she thought.    
  
In a low whisper, the House Elf responded, “Missy Bella would not like Missy Hermione. Kreacher heard her say, more than once, if he ever sired any spawn, she would dispose of it.” The poor elf looked like he was about to be hit, and while Hermione was absolutely appalled by what he said, she tried not to show it.   
  
“Okay, so Rodolphus had me hidden away?”

“Yes, with filthy Muggles! Kreacher would have never allowed for that, not with Muggles. Filthy, stinky, worthless—”   
  
“ _ Alright _ , I get it, you would have done a better job— but what about Baphomet? Is he still alive? Does he know who my birth mum is? Is he—” suddenly Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face.   
  
“Kreacher, you can't tell Bella we are here! You can't tell her I know about who I am! You have to keep this quiet! Please, Kreacher. It’s so important you don't tell anyone!” She was pleading with the elf, suddenly quite afraid he may turn on her.    
  
“When Baphomet went to retrieve Missy, and place her with her new family, he needed someone to watch her, he did. Brought her to Kreacher. Kreacher watched over baby Missy until Baphomet returned.”   
  
“Okay, but Kreacher, please you can’t—” the little elf put up a finger silencing her.    
  
“Baphomet knew Grimmauld Place was empty when he brought Missy. There was a meeting that day, and Kreacher was only one left here. Baphomet brings baby Missy to Kreacher, to watch over until her new family is set up, yes he did. But Master Regulus returned early, and Kreacher tried to hide baby, but Master Regulus found it. He made Kreacher promise never to talk about baby Missy, not to anyone who would hurt her. Master Regulus was a good Master, always kind to Kreacher, and kind to Missy. Eighteen years Kreacher kept this from Missy Bella, he did. Kreacher is always loyal to Master Regulus. Kreacher won’t tell.” He finished, standing  proudly in his stained and dirty tea cloth, and Hermione knew he would never betray this promise he made to Regulus.    
  
“Thank you, Kreacher,” she sighed. Still, they needed to quickly figure out their next move, and leave Grimmauld Place. They were sitting ducks here. 

They sat in silence for a moment, before Kreacher spoke up again. “Missy wanted to know about Master Regulus’ locket…” he paused, bringing Hermione’s mind back to the task at hand. 

  
“Yes, Kreacher, what did Regulus ask you to do?” she asked softly, looking up at the elf.    
  


He peered at her, a pained look on his face. It was a moment before he spoke, and when he did, his words were quiet; you could hear the fear still in his voice.    
  
“Master Regulus told Kreacher that the Dark Lord had requested Kreacher’s assistance.”

xXxXxXx

After asking Kreacher to wait for her, Hermione walked back into the living room to join Harry and Ron, and sat down with a grim expression, sighing deeply.    
  
“What happened ‘Mione? We couldn’t hear anything!” Ron sat forward, waiting to hear what she had learned.    
  
Hermione sat for a moment, unsure of how to begin to tell Kreacher’s tale. She already felt the tears welling up in her eyes. Wringing her hands, she began to relay what Kreacher had told her, in low whispers.    
  
“So Kreacher was the one who helped him hide it in the cave in the first place? And the cad made him drink that poison?” Harry was shaking his head, visibly disgusted by what had happened.    
  
“And when Regulus realized he wanted out, he had Kreacher take him back to the cave, but this time he made Kreacher come back here, drinking that stuff himself? And  _ that’s _ how he died? Godric that’s bloody awful!” Ron had stood from the couch, and turned to face the fireplace.    
  
“Regulus had ordered him to destroy the locket, but nothing he did would, obviously. So he hid it away, all these years, and then Mundungus stole it.” Hermione finished, glancing over her shoulder back to the kitchen where the elf waited.    
  
Harry stood up and walked back to the kitchen, followed quickly by Hermione and Ron. He found the House Elf waiting on a bench, staring at his hands.    
  
“Kreacher, what you did— what happened to Regulus, that wasn’t your fault,” he began, intending to go on, but was cut off from continuing by the elf’s wails.    
  
“Kreacher left Master Regulus! Left him and he never came back!” Sobbing now, Kreacher fell to the floor.    


“Uhm, well, yes.” Harry was clearly uncomfortable with the elf’s sobs. “I was thinking, Kreacher. It's not much, but I think Regulus would want you to have this.” Holding out the fake locket, Harry was expecting the loud sobs that shook the elf as he stood and took the necklace, cradling it like a baby.   
  
What he wasn’t expecting was for that elf to suddenly drop to his knees, and cry out “Thank you Master Harry! A kind Master you are! Just like my Master Regulus was!”    
  
“Uhh, it’s okay, Kreacher, you can get up…you can— Kreacher, please, get up.” The elf rose to stand, and Harry continued. “Uh actually, we need you to do us a favor. If you can, find Mundungus, bring him back here. We intend to get that locket back,” Harry said with a tone of finality.    
  
The elf let out one last sob, nodding first at Harry, then at Ron, before turning and bowing to Hermione. At that, there was a little  _ pop _ , and he was gone. 

xXxXxXx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love your feedback, let me know what you think!


	14. Kitten Has Claws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85 - seriously, she's the reason shit gets done round here guys.  
>  **A/N:** I am sort of speechless at the wonderful reaction I’ve gotten from you lovelies! Your reviews and PM’s mean the world to me and are so so motivating and encouraging! I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think!  
>  **Xoxo, Luce**

 

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**Kitten Has Claws** ****  


“Bloody hell! Will you two sit down please? You’re making _me_ nervous!” Ron erupted from the little table where he sat in the kitchen.   
  
Harry turned to look at him, surprised at his outburst. “What are you on about Ron?” he asked, as he walked toward his friend.   
  
“You two have been bloody pacing this room since Kreacher left, _TWO_ _HOURS_ ago. It’s done nothing to make the bloody task quicker, but it’s driving me mental!” Ron slammed his palm down on the table, frustrated.   
  
“Ronald! Honestly, no one asked you to sit in here with us.” Hermione scoffed, walking to the table as well. She huffed, but sank down into the chair next to him. “You are right though. This isn’t doing anything except making us all edgy. Maybe we should—”

“Bloody EAT!” Ron moaned. They hadn’t had much since they arrived at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had packed what food she could, but it wasn’t a lot, and they had all agreed it would be best to make it last as long as possible by rationing it. They didn’t know what was ahead, or how long it would be until they could get supplies again.

Sighing, Hermione looked at Harry, having a silent conversation with their eyes.   


“Ron, we all agreed we would save it—” Harry started, but was cut off.

  
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just— this sucks.” he finished, looking down at his lap.   
  
“Let’s go wait in the other room. I’ll light a fire, and we can relax for a bit.” Hermione offered, standing and motioning for the boys to do the same. They stood and followed her into the living room, Harry sitting on one side of the small couch, and Ron flopping into the large armchair.   
  
Hermione lit a fire before making her way to the couch as well, curling up into the corner, and pulling out three books. She tossed Ron an old and beaten softback which he caught in one hand.   
  
“What the… is this—? Hermione, this is _my_ book!” he exclaimed, clearly pleased with it. “Thank you.” he looked up at her, grateful.   
  
She handed Harry the book she had packed for him, receiving a warm smile, before settling in with Dumbledore’s copy of Beedle the Bard. She opened the cover and began reading the children’s tales she had missed out on.

Some time later Harry rose to his feet, stretching, and mumbling something about using the loo. Hermione stretched her legs out into the empty space he left behind, and set the book down. She looked over to Ron and chuckled when she saw his head flopped over, her friend fast asleep. She watched him for a moment; she hadn’t experienced that kind of peaceful sleep in quite some time, and missed it— nightmares haunted her almost nightly, even though they didn’t always leave her screaming.

She was lost in thought when she heard Harry yell to her. Scrambling to her feet, she shouted at Ron before dashing out toward where Harry was.   
  
She found him in the front foyer, peeling the window curtains back and looking out onto the street.   
  
“Harry, what are—” she started, but he waved his hand to her motioning her to look out as well.   
  
“There are Death Eaters out there, watching the street.” He shifted over so she could look out the window as well.   
  
“They must not be able to see it then, if they are just waiting outside,” she mused, as Ron walked around the corner.   
  
“What’s going on?” he said groggily, rubbing at his eyes.   
  
“Death Eaters. Outside.” Harry repeated.   
  
“Who is it, can you tell?” he asked, looking more alert now.   
  
“Dolohov. I’m not sure who the second one is, but I’d know Dolohov anywhere.” Hermione said shakily, exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Harry reached over and squeezed her shoulder.   
  
“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.   
  
“Yes.” It came out in a whisper.   
  
“Are you sure, you don’t—”

“Harry, I’m fine.” she lied, “It was over a year ago. Besides, he can’t see us. They must not know we are in here, otherwise they would have had Snape open it up, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, reckon you’re right ‘Mione.” Ron agreed, before turning and heading into the bathroom himself.   
  
Harry turned to Hermione and reached out, taking her chin in his hand and lifting her face until her eyes met his own. “Hermione, it’s okay if you aren’t alright.” He moved his hand to cup her face, and then drew it back, down her hair.   
  
Smiling weakly at him, she shook her head a little, and then took a step forward. Harry automatically opened his arms and hugged her tight.   
  
“Thank you Harry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She sighed, breathing in the familiar scent of her best friend.   
  
“Hopefully you’ll never have to find out,” he whispered as the two stood, embracing each other. 

  
xXxXxXx

 

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped, unable to stop herself. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she continued a little more calmly, “Ron, please. Can you stop clicking that Deluminator?”   
  
“Sorry, I guess I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” he shrugged, placing the object back in his pocket.   
  
Hermione sighed, and tried to focus on the book again. Kreacher hadn’t yet returned, and it was now well into the evening. They had expected the task to be quick, and it was frustrating as well as nerve wrecking that he wasn’t back.   
  
Picking up on her stress, Harry stood and walked to her chair. He raised his eyebrows at her, and then gently took the book from her hands, putting her marker in the page before closing it.

“Why don’t you get your pyjamas on, and we will call it a night. There's no sense in waiting up for him; he’ll wake us if he comes back.” Harry held out his hand, and Hermione deliberated just a moment before taking it and standing. She plucked her book from him, but gave a smile as she walked toward the bathroom, grabbing her pyjamas along the way.

Once she was dressed — yoga pants and Harry's jersey again — Hermione walked into the kitchen and began to fix teas. She took out three cups, washing them before placing them by the stove. Sighing she poured water into the kettle, waiting for it to heat up before pouring some into each cup. Normally the three friends prefered their teas quite differently from one another; however with nothing save moldy bread in the cupboards, there wasn't much in the way of personalizing the drinks.

Placing the cups on a small tray, Hermione levitated them behind her as she walked back to the living room. She set the tray on the coffee table, and handed a tea to both Harry and Ron, who each crinkled their noses but thanked her.

“No lemons, no honey, no milk. Sorry.” She apologised without much emotion before sipping from her own cup. They did the same, and the three sat in silence for a moment.   
  
Ron stood, grabbing the pyjamas Hermione had set out for him. “I’m going to take a shower.” he stated before heading off toward the bathroom. They both heard the door click a moment later, and then the water turned on.   
  
“You’re still having nightmares.” Harry accused, placing his cup down and facing Hermione, eyebrows slightly raised.   
  
“Well, they never stopped. You know that Harry.” she said slowly, setting her cup down as well, and drawing her knees up into her chest so she could wrap her arms around her legs.

“Right, but you said they weren’t happening as often, and not as bad,” he pressed, “unless you lied?”   
  
“No, they were getting better.” she sighed.

“So what happened? Why are they worse now? You’ve had at least two in the past week, and—”   
  
“Nothing happened, Harry. Not really. It’s just— the one at the Weasley’s, well, I still get them, I never said they _stopped_ . But you’re right, I guess everything in the cafe must have brought on the other one.” she lied, wishing she could talk to her best friend about everything.   
  
“I wish I could help,” he frowned, looking guilty. “I wish I could say that you were safe, and everything was going to be fine, and—”   
  
“Stop. You don’t get to blame yourself for this, and I know that’s where you’re going. This isn’t your fault, Harry.” reaching out, Hermione grabbed his hand, and squeezed.   
  
“But—”   
  
“No. Stop. We’re done with this conversation. Grab your pyjamas, and put them on.” she instructed, dropping his hand and gesturing to the pile of clothes on the table.

Resigned, Harry stood and grabbed the clothes, walking just behind the couch to change. Hermione stayed quite still, eyes focused straight ahead, while he was behind her, and she didn’t move again until he walked back around the couch, grabbing the sleeping bags that were neatly folded in front of it. He laid them in a row, and sat down on the farthest one, patting the middle bag, silently gesturing for Hermione to join him.

“Have you ever been camping, Harry?” she asked him as she settled into the warmth of the bag.   


“Nah, the Dursley’s aren’t really outdoor people. Plus,” chuckling, “I don’t think Uncle Vernon would fit in one of these.”   
  
Hermione tried not to laugh, but she _had_ seen the man before, and Harry was right, he probably wouldn’t. Still, it was quite rude to laugh at him, so she covered her mouth hiding her smile, and changed the subject.

“What are we going to do if Kreacher doesn’t come back?” she asked, suddenly serious.   
  
Harry sighed, and looked at her a moment before answering. “He will come back. Don’t stress about it Hermione.”   
  
“But—” she started, only to be interrupted.   
  
“Shh. _Accio_ Hermione’s bag.” he waited as the small beaded bag zoomed toward them. Catching it in his hand, he placed it in front of Hermione. “I know you’ve brought other books, besides the one Dumbledore gave you. Stop worrying tonight, just read, and then go to sleep.”   
  
“Harry James Potter, don’t you tell me what to do.” she said, even as she reached into her bag to pull out a book.   
  
Smirking at her, Harry called his own book to him, and laid back onto his pillow, opening his arm and gesturing for Hermione to lay back as well. She did just that, cuddling into her best friend, as she opened her book.   
  
Harry peeked over at the title, and laughed. “ _Beauty and the Beast_ Hermione, really?”   
  
“I happen to like this book very much, thank you. Now, if you’re done telling me what to do—” she teased, turning to the bookmarked page, and began reading.   
  
Ron returned a short while later, grabbing his own book and settling into the bag next to Hermione. He lasted about half an hour before calling it quits and closing his eyes for sleep.   
  
Hermione shut her own book shortly after that, and stood, grabbing her pyjamas and heading into the bathroom. Once inside, she shut and locked the door, pulling out her coin and tapping it.   


Nothing.   
  
While it wasn’t surprising, since it was only half past ten, Hermione still felt disappointment. Sitting herself on the edge of the tub, she tapped her wand to the coin.   
  
_Hi_   
  
She brushed her teeth, hoping he would reply before she had to head back into the room with the boys. She ended up brushing for twice as long as usual, and taking extra slow movements as she put her pyjamas on. She stood with her hand on the door handle for at least two solid minutes before she decided that it just wasn’t going to happen. Opening the door, she walked back toward the makeshift beds dejectedly.   
  
Harry had put his book aside, but was still awake. He smiled at her as she walked into the room. After exhausting the lights, Hermione made her way to her bag and crawled in.   
  
“Goodnight Harry.”   
  
“Goodnight, Hermione.” Harry said, as he rolled over.   
  
Hermione clutched the coin around her neck as she stared into the darkness of the room. Her ears felt like they were on high alert, waiting for Kreacher to pop back into the residence. She also felt a little on edge, knowing that there were at least two Death Eaters outside Grimmauld Place watching, waiting.

She wondered, not for the first time, what Draco was doing. What he was being forced to do. She hoped he was safe— surely him being so young was an advantage there? He wouldn’t be given the same tasks as the adult members, would he? Questions and concerns rattled in her brain, until her heart was racing, sure that something must have happened to Draco. She silently cast a tempus, and took a breath when she realized it was still five minutes until eleven. He still had five minutes.   
  
She began counting the seconds, to occupy her mind. She got to sixty, and started over. Sixty again. Sixty again. Forty five seconds the fourth time, and she felt the coin grow warm. Sliding down underneath the covers she pulled out her wand and cast a _Lumos._ Reading the message, she sighed in relief.   
  
_Where are you? He has no idea, so it must be good._

 _I’ll sleep a little better knowing that._   
  
_Wherever you are, stay put._   


_Ok. Are you alright? I’ve been worried._   
  
_I’m not the one on the run - don’t worry about me._   
  
Hermione didn’t like the way he completely evaded the question, but it was really hard to tell anything with these coins. She wished she could see his face or hear his voice. _Just to better understand the conversation,_ she told herself.   
  
_I do worry. It’s kind of my thing._   
_  
_ Relax, Hermione. For now, everything is fine. Goodnight.

Hermione bit her lip trying to stop the smile that was quickly taking over her face. She let her wand go dark, and tucked the coin into her shirt, before crawling back to the top of her bag. Closing her eyes, Hermione’s last thoughts before sleep pulled her under, were of Draco.

xXxXxXx

It wasn’t until their third morning at Grimmauld Place that anything changed. Harry had been in the kitchen when he heard a scuffling coming from the door. Pulling his wand out, he cautiously made his way toward the sounds. Pausing at the corner, he took a deep breath before rushing around, wand held high, and shouting.   
  
Ron and Hermione had jumped off the couch, wands drawn, and ran toward Harry’s voice, turning the corner to see him pointing his wand at Sirius and Remus. Ron had immediately dropped his wand hand, and moved to greet the two men.   
  
“Ronald! Stop!” Hermione scolded him. He turned questioningly toward her, just as Harry spoke.   
  
“If you’re Remus, then tell me what you gave me third year, just after you’d been sacked,” Harry said, his voice hard and untrusting.   
  
Remus smiled, “I gave you back the Marauder’s Map.” Harry sighed in relief, lowering his wand. Hermione however still had hers trained on Sirius, who was standing quite close to her. His chest was just inches from the tip of her wand. As she opened her mouth to verify his identity he looked right in her eyes, winked, and said in a low voice only she and Remus could hear,   
  
“Kitten has claws.”

Hermione immediately lowered her wand, relief flooding her body even as her cheeks pinked. She took two steps and landed in his comforting embrace, wrapping her arms around his body and felt herself truly relax for the first time in days.  
  
“What the hell ‘Mione, you didn’t even ask him a question?!” Ron accused, crossing his arms at her sudden display of affection toward the older wizard.   
  
“It’s them, Ron.” Her face was pressed into Sirius’ chest, so her voice came out muffled. After another moment she let him go, and turned to Remus, giving him a crushing hug as well.   
  
Patting her on the back, Remus smiled at Ron, who was pouting behind Hermione. Harry had crossed over to Sirius, embracing his godfather, and was laughing at something Sirius whispered in his ear.   
  
They made their way into the living room, Harry and Sirius sitting on the couch, Ron and Remus in the chairs on either side.   
  
“I’ll grab us some tea then,” Hermione said as she walked into the kitchen..   
  
Once she had put together five cups of tea, she walked back into the living room to distribute them, before sitting on the couch between Harry and Sirius, the latter of whom put an arm around her shoulders, smirking at her. She noticed a large box now sat on the table, overflowing with food, and smelling quite like Mrs. Weasley’s cooking.   
  
“You’ve come to feed us!” she exclaimed, gratefully.   
  
“Ah, yes, Molly was in a tizzy thinking you three had left off with nothing to eat.” Sirius chuckled.

“We have a few things, but it’s not much, and we were trying to save them, just in case.” she admitted, leaning forward and glancing into the box.   
  
Remus raised his cup, smiling at her, “Thank you for this, Hermione. We were just telling Ron and Harry that there are Death Eater’s watching the place. We had to Apparate exactly onto the top step so they wouldn’t see us.”

  
Hermione felt herself tense up, and Sirius looked down at her, eyebrows knit together.   
  
“What was that for kitten?” he asked, concerned.   
  
“Dolohov is out there,” Harry replied for her, taking her hand as he did. “What exactly happened after we left? Mr. Weasley sent a Patronus saying everyone was fine, but that’s all we know.”   
  
“It was complete chaos. Death Eaters started Apparating in, shooting curses and hexes; luckily most of the guests had Disapparated before they got there. No one besides the Order even knew you’d been there Harry, so their questioning came up empty.”   
  
“Took ‘em bloody long enough though,” Sirius growled.   
  
“Now we’re all being pretty closely watched, but everyone is safe. So did you three come straight here after the wedding? No one knew where you went.” Remus questioned.   
  
“Nah, first we went to a little cafe in muggle London, but we were attacked by some Death Eaters— that’s when we came here.” Ron said, shrugging.   
  
“What? How did they find you?” Sirius leaned forward looking directly at Harry.   
  
“Dunno. Hermione reckons there must be a taboo on his name, and that’s how they found us. We aren’t sure, but better safe than sorry, I suppose.” Harry shrugged his shoulders, before looking back to Remus.

“That’s actually probably a very good guess, Hermione,” Remus praised her. “So after all that, you’ve just been hiding out then?”

Hermione looked over at Harry, who let go of her hand and took a deep breath. Hermione reached up and pulled Sirius’ hand from her shoulder, taking it between both of her own, and holding tight.   
  
“We actually had a run in with Kreacher. He, uh, let us know some rather intense details.”   
  
Hermione turned her body toward Harry as he described what they had learned from Kreacher, but she let her body sink into Sirius’ side, offering him silent comfort as his brother’s past was exposed.   
  
By the time Harry had finished, Sirius was visibly upset, and Remus was equally disturbed. The three answered what questions they could, offering comfort when possible. After every detail had been explained at least twice, Sirius stood and left the room. Upon hearing the bathroom door click, they all exhaled; the tension in the room releasing a little.   
  
Remus sighed and pulled a newspaper from his coat pocket, handing it to harry. “I’m going to guess you haven’t seen this, then?”

 

 **THE BOY WHO LIVED - KILLS?** ****  
**HARRY POTTER WANTED FOR QUESTIONING CONCERNING ALBUS DUMBLEDORE’S DEATH** ****  


 

Harry shook his head disgustedly as he skimmed the rubbish article written by none other than Rita Skeeter.

  
Hermione glanced at the front page, and crossed her arms.   
  
“You know it’s going to be utter hogwash if that woman wrote it, Harry.” She paused a moment, before turning to Remus. “So they have taken over the Prophet, then? Does that mean they have the Ministry as well?” she asked.

 ****  
“It was a fairly seamless transition. Most people haven’t even noticed.” He shook his head.  
  
Sirius appeared in the doorway just then, glancing at Remus, who nodded ever so slightly. Clearing his throat, he looked apologetically at Harry and then Ron. “Sorry boys, but this wasn’t purely a social visit. We’ve got to talk to Hermione about some Order business before we get going.”   
  
“Bloody hell. You know she’s just going to tell us whatever it is you say anyway. Might as well just talk here,” Ron mumbled, clearly still bothered that he wasn’t in the Order yet.   
  
“That isn’t true at all Ronald. I was told to keep my mouth shut about what exactly I’m doing in the Order, and I have. I resent you thinking I wouldn’t be able to do my job,” she snapped at him. At least he had the self-preserving instinct to look apologetic.   
  
Hermione and Remus stood and walked toward Sirius. “I’ll be right back, Harry.” She had paused, turning toward her best friend and purposefully leaving Ron out. He nodded at her, still immersed in the paper, and she followed Remus out of the room.   
  
After setting up silencing charms, Remus looked at Hermione, and raised his eyebrows.   
  
“Minerva sent us here to find out if you had any news. She hasn’t told us exactly what you’ve been doing, but she said you may have important information the Order needed.”   
  
“Not much, unfortunately,” she shrugged, apologetically. “I _do_ know for a fact that there _has_ been a taboo put on You-Know-Who’s name, and that’s how they found us in that cafe.”   
  
“And how exactly do you know that, Kitten?” Sirius smirked down at her. “Yes, I am onto you. I will find out exactly what it is you’re hiding from us eventually.” He winked at her, before wiggling his eyebrows.

“Sirius Orion Black, you know bloody well that I can’t tell you any more than you already know, so stop asking,” she scolded the older wizard.    
  
“Oh at least give us something, Kitten? If you can’t tell us what you’re doing, at least tell us who this mysterious new bond is with,” he pouted, poking her in the side.

“I don’t know why you two insist that I—”   
  
“You can’t deny what I can see with my own two eyes, Hermione,” Remus stated, raising an eyebrow and smirking at her. She was getting a clearer picture of exactly how this man fit into the group of Marauders.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, and looked over her shoulder toward the living room. These two didn’t know when to give up. Ignoring their comments, she instead informed them that unfortunately, that was the only bit of information she had been given. The two handsome wizards shared an inside knowing look before laughing, and dropping the subject. Hermione stood quietly for a brief minute before speaking again.

“Remus, would you mind if I spoke to Sirius for a moment? Alone—” she faced the werewolf and hoped the expression she wore was friendly, but firm. She didn’t have time for questions.   
  
Remus looked at Sirius, who shrugged his shoulders in an _I don’t know_ sort of way, before looking back at her.   
  
“Alright.” He nodded and walked to the living room, leaving Hermione and Sirius alone in the hallway.   
  
Sirius waggled his eyebrows and smirked at her before he spoke, “I’m flattered Kitten. What exactly can I do for you?”   
  
And that was why she had chosen to ask Sirius over Remus. He was lighthearted, and, in direct contrast to his name, playful. Remus would have asked far too many questions, and been overly concerned about her feelings and just— too much. He would have been too much. Sirius on the other hand…   
  
“I need to ask you a favor, Sirius.” She could already feel the tears prickling behind her eyes, and looked down at her shoes, trying to hide them from the older wizard.   
  
“Oh?”   
  
She looked up at him, squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

“I need you to come with me.”

xXxXxXx


	15. Some for the Flavour, Some for the Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** guys! I'm sorry about the cliffhanger there! I'll try not to write so many in, but I have a feeling they are going to be a little more common as we progress through the story! When I asked about those, the last chapter, and this one were already written, so I can't help that they already have cliffhangers, don't kill me!? I hope you at least enjoy the pain? 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85, without whom none of this would be possible. **Seriously, she’s the best.**

 

**  
** **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**Some for the Flavour, Some for the Feeling**

Hermione had known that Obliviating her parents was something that had a strong possibility of happening, but now that she was actually faced with the task, she was nervous, and sad, and unsure. Was it really the right thing to do?  _ Of course it is. Their safety is paramount; more important than their memories. Because what good are memories, if they’re dead? _ she thought, sadly.     
  
She had quickly explained to Sirius what she needed to do, making it clear that all  _ he  _ needed to do was get her back to Grimmauld Place after the fact. Hermione didn’t trust herself to Apparate back when she would likely be an emotional wreck— not to mention having to make it precisely onto the top step to avoid being seen by the Death Eaters.    
  
It was obvious Sirius was a bit shocked by her request, but true to his nature, he simply winked at her.   
  
“Anything for you, Kitten.” 

Summoning a piece of parchment and a quill, Hermione quickly wrote a note to Harry, before transforming it into an origami crane, then charming it to fly to him. She turned back to look at Sirius, who offered her his arm.

Hermione took it, opening the front door and stepping out. Before she could think too much, she Apparated them both to her parents’ home.    
  
They arrived off to the side of the house away from prying eyes, and to Hermione’s immense relief, her parents’ car was gone. She released her grip on Sirius’ arm, and walked around the house to enter through the back, avoiding the possibility of being spotted by neighbors.    
  
Sirius followed along silently, until they entered the kitchen through the sliding door.    
  
“You’re sure about this, Kitten?” he asked her as he looked around. There were pictures lining the walls and artwork on the fridge; evidence of her existence written all over the home. 

“I’ve been questioning myself about this for months now, Sirius. It has to be done. I have to keep them safe,” she whispered, choking back tears as she walked to the row of pictures hanging on the wall closest to her. Taking one of the frames down, Hermione gently ran her fingers over the photo of her and her parents, taken only last December when she was home for the Christmas holiday. Slipping the picture out of the frame, she duplicated it, placing one copy inside her beaded bag, and the other back into the frame. 

A tear slid down her cheek as she raised her wand, hand shaking. Staring at the memories in front of her, she had a moment of doubt, not in the necessity of the action, but in her ability to follow through. A stifled sob escaped her lips, and Hermione closed her eyes, standing unmoving in front of the wall.    
  
She felt a warm hand encircle her own, as Sirius stepped up next to her. He squeezed the hand at her side, which gave her just enough strength to tap the photos, erasing her image from them until they showed a happy couple— alone. 

They silently made their way through the rest of the house, erasing any evidence of her existence. When they got to Hermione’s bedroom upstairs, she opened the door and stared inside. She could feel Sirius looking at her, waiting for her to move. She had packed everything of importance when she left for the Burrow, so after one last look over the room that was once hers, she steeled her nerves and took a deep breath. Shaking her head as more tears spilled over her cheeks, Hermione erased the evidence of a bedroom existing, and transfigured the furniture until the room appeared to be a home library. Shelves full of books lined the walls, and a couple of arm chairs now sat in the cozy space. Hermione thought it was almost ironic, that  _ this  _ was what her room would be now; something that so completely represented her, in a space designed to erase her. She shut the door before any more tears could make their appearance.

Finishing the upstairs, Sirius stayed silent at her side as she clung to his hand like a lifeline. He didn’t say anything, and she was thankful for that. The silence was deafening, but she knew that if she tried to speak, she would lose her composure to a flood of tears.

Walking down the stairs, Hermione led Sirius back to the living room where they sat down on the couch to wait for her parents to return home. Sirius let go of her hand, only to bring his arm up and rest it around her shoulders. Hermione sniffled, wiping moisture from her eyes, as she cuddled into his side, pulling her knees into her chest. Sirius gently patted her shoulder while she tried to gain control over her skyrocketing emotions. She briefly wished it was Harry with her now, before pushing the thought aside. She probably wouldn’t be able to hold her emotions in if it was Harry here with her. At least with Sirius, she could stay focused.    
  
A terrible mixture of relief and dread filled Hermione as the sound of a car pulling into the drive alerted them to her parents’ arrival. Sirius gave her a reassuring squeeze, as she uncurled herself from his side, and stood. She quickly cast a Disillusionment charm on herself, and watched Sirius mimic her, before they made their way to the corner of the room. Moments later, the door knob twisted as Richard and Helen Granger walked into their home. Hermione watched as her mother looked back over her shoulder at her husband, laughing at something he said. Each had a handful of shopping bags, and the couple made their way into the kitchen to deposit them.    
  
Hermione silently followed them to the kitchen, stopping at the entrance of the room to watch for a moment. They had both placed their bags onto the counter, and her father had taken his wife into his arms, sweetly kissing the woman before releasing her to put the items away. He had opened refrigerator and her mother was passing him the cold items. Hermione knew this was probably as good a time as any, and fought back the tears that were already spilling down her cheeks.    
  
Steeling herself for one last moment of composure, Hermione stepped into the room walking toward where her parents stood, facing away from her. She had studied for weeks, making sure she would be properly prepared for this moment, were it ever to come; practiced the wand movements and the incantation. Pausing for just a moment behind her parents, Hermione raised her wand. Her hand was shaking, and her voice trembled as she spoke the word—    
  
“ _ Obliviate.” _ __

 

xXxXxXx

 

Sirius had followed the witch when she walked toward her parents. She was bloody brilliant, and he knew that, but she was also an 18 year old girl, about to erase herself from her parents’ memories; he was on standby in case she needed help.    
  
As it turned out Hermione Granger was quite capable of performing the Obliviate, but quite incapable of remaining on her feet once it was done. He watched the girl’s knees buckle and quickly stepped forward catching her as she fell toward the ground, before he Apparated them back to the front step of his former home with a crack.    
  
When they arrived on the top step of the landing, Sirius gently took Hermione into his arms before opening the door quietly. His canine hearing told him the three men were in the kitchen. In a voice just over a whisper, Sirius spoke into the empty space around them.    
  
“Give us a few, Moony.” He knew that Remus would be able to hear him, but Harry and Ron would remain oblivious to their arrival.    
  
Turning to the stairs, Sirius started up toward the bedrooms, cradling the witch in his arms and whispering reassurances to her, as she shook, tears silently streaming down her face.    
  
Nudging open the door, Sirius walked into his childhood bedroom, pausing to close the door with his heel and cast a silencing charm. He walked to the bed, laying Hermione on top of the covers before sitting back against the headboard and pulling her into him.    
  
“Shhh, it’s going to be alright, Kitten. It’ll be alright.” He gently ran a hand over her messy curls, wishing he could do more for the heartbroken girl sobbing in his arms. Sirius didn’t have any blood relatives he particularly cared for, but he knew about family, and he couldn’t imagine having to do what she had done. She was a bloody brave witch, and Harry was lucky to have her at his side.    
  


xXxXxXx

 

Hermione knew she needed to get up. She needed to pull herself together, and out of Sirius’ lap.  _ But Merlin, her parents didn’t know who she was anymore! _ Another sob wracked her body, and she dismissed the thought of getting up, instead curling in tighter to Sirius’ embrace. He was being very sweet, and oddly appropriate; he just sat with her, offering comforting words and smoothing her hair. It reminded her of the way her mother used to soothe her when she was younger, and she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. 

After what seemed like a very long time, Hermione gave one last sniffle, wiping her eyes on the back of her shirt sleeve. She pushed herself off of Sirius to sit up, and felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her.    
  
“I’m sorry, Sirius.” She covered her face with her hands, dropping her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to have to stay here with me, that wasn’t fair, I should have just—”    
  
“Just what? Sat and cried alone? That’s not how things work around here, Kitten.” He squeezed her forearm as he spoke, pulling it away from her face and setting it into her lap.     
  
Hermione was silent a moment, before she spoke. “I don’t have any family, Sirius.” Her voice was weak and heartbroken.    
  
Sirius suddenly took her face into his hands, raising it so that her eyes met his own. His expression was determined, and almost dangerous looking. He spoke his words clearly, as if trying to ingrain them into her mind.    
  
“Hermione, listen to me. You will always have family.  _ Harry  _ is your family. Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys, Remus, me—  _ We _ are your family now. Don’t you ever forget that.”    
  
Hermione swallowed, nodding her head. He was right, Harry was family, as well as everyone else he named.    
  
“I know, I know, Sirius. It’s just—  _ hard _ .” She fought back more tears as she stood, and wiped her eyes again. Sirius rose from the bed as well, looking at her not with pity, but with empathy.    
  
He wrapped his arms around her, and Hermione felt him press his lips to her forehead. It was such a sweet, comforting gesture— so unlike Sirius— and Hermione was unable to hold back the tears. She cried into his chest, as he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. After a few moments, Hermione sniffled, pulling away from him. She looked up at the older wizard.    
  
“Can I freshen up in your bathroom? Then we can go downstairs and face Harry and Ron.”    
  
“Of course you can.” 

Hermione turned and walked into his bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She braced her hands on either side of the sink, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were rimmed red, and there were tear tracks down her cheeks. Her hair was a mess. She looked awful. 

Turning on the faucet, Hermione let the water run cold before splashing it onto her face. She dried off with her wand, not trusting the small towel next to the sink.  _ Who knows how long that has been sitting there… _ Pulling her fingers through her hair, she tried to comb it out as best she could, before deciding to just tie the whole mess up. Giving herself one last glance in the mirror, she decided to use a quick glamour on her face to hide away the last traces of her afternoon spent crying.    
  
Satisfied, she opened the door to find Sirius standing at the bookshelf across the room, finger tracing the spines of what looked to be well worn books. She walked over to stand beside him, smiling as he turned to face her.    
  
“Better?” he asked.    
  
“No, but it will do,” she replied honestly, before biting her lip. “Sirius, can we— I’m not ready to tell Harry and Ron yet.”    
  


“They would want to know, Kitten. Are you sure?” he looked at her skeptically.

“Yes, I can’t talk about it yet. I just need— I need to process this a little more. Please?”    
  
Sirius looked concerned, but nodded his head. “If that’s what you think is best… but I know Harry would want to help you through this— be there for you.”    
  
“Harry is already there for me more than you know, Sirius.” She shook her head, knowing there was no way she would be able to sleep without Harry’s comfort, and wondering how she was going to tell him about her parents.    
  
Squaring her shoulders, Hermione turned for the door. She put her fingers on the knob, and paused, looking back at Sirius.    
  
“Remus probably heard everything, didn’t he?” she asked, already fairly certain of the answer.    
  
“He knew the moment we walked in the door, Kitten. He likely heard you crying, but I put a silencing charm on the room, so just what he heard before we left. ” Sirius walked toward her, putting his hand on her shoulder, patting gently.    
  
“Thank you, for everything.” Turning back to the door, Hermione twisted the knob, and walked out into the hallway, not ready to face reality, but knowing there was no other option. 

xXxXxXx

Hermione was wracking her brain, trying to think of something to tell Harry and Ron about where she’d been the last two plus hours. She wasn’t ready to tell them the truth yet, but she also didn't want them getting any ideas of their own. 

When she walked into the kitchen, Remus was sitting at the table with Ron, and Harry was sitting on the countertop. All three wizards had a glass of Firewhisky, and were animatedly talking. Harry was the first to see her, and immediately jumped off the counter, looking irritated as he made his way over to her. 

“Hermione! Where have you been? It's been over two bloody hours since you sent me that note! ‘I’ll be back’? What in Merlin’s balls were you thinking? Where were you?” Harry’s voice was loud, and almost angry sounding— though after knowing him for 6 years, Hermione knew that was just to cover up the immense concern he felt. 

“I'm sorry, I had to do something for the Order, and I couldn't tell you. So I thought it was better to just go— I didn't mean to worry you.” Hermione looked over at Ron, and then Remus, who she noticed had his eyebrows raised. When they made eye contact, he gave her a questioning look, but she just shook her head, almost imperceptibly, and looked back at Harry. Remus obviously read the gesture loud and clear, because he returned his expression to one of neutrality, and focused on his drink.    
  
“Why didn’t you just say that in the note then?” Ron’s brows were creased, and he looked like he was thinking, hard.    
  
“I don’t know, Ronald! I don’t have to explain myself to you two— I’ve told you I had to do something with the Order, and that’s all I can say. Now can we drop it please?” 

  
“Merlin, sorry we were concerned!” Ron stood, grabbing his drink, before stalking out of the room.    
  
“Oh, come on— Ron!” she tried calling after him, but he was already out of the room and Hermione didn’t feel like chasing after him. She wasn’t in the mood to coddle someone else’s feelings when her own were so bloody broken. Instead, she plopped down in his empty chair, and summoned a glass before reaching across the table to grab the open bottle of Firewhisky.    
  
The two older wizards and Harry watched her pour a  _ very _ generous glass, and she could almost hear their eyebrows raise in surprise. She didn’t care. After the day she had, she felt like this was more than acceptable.    
  
“Harry, why don’t you go, uh, check on Ron there.” Sirius nodded toward the door.    
  
“No, I’m sure he’s—” Harry started, but was cut off by Remus this time.    
  
“Go check on him, Harry.” His voice was stern, leaving no room for argument.    
  
Harry put his hands up, one gripping his glass. “Yes, Professor,” he retorted sarcastically, though one look at Remus’ expression had him scurrying out the door.    
  
“Sirius, would you do the honors?” Remus gestured to the door of the kitchen, before scooting his chair around the table next to Hermione’s. Sirius nodded, and began to add silencing and locking charms to the now closed kitchen door.    
  
Hermione hadn’t even looked up since pouring her glass, and Sirius was surprised to turn around and see it half empty already. She had poured the damn thing near full, not three minutes ago.    
  
“Whoa, slow down there, Kitten.” He pushed her arm gently away from her face, as she had been about to take another sip. Or gulp, it seemed.    
  
“Sirius, you aren’t my parent. Don’t try to tell me what to do.” She raised her glass again, and took a heavy sip, scrunching her face up at the taste. It was strong, and burning, and she really didn’t like it. “Why do people drink this stuff anyway?”   
  
“I’d say it’s about fifty-fifty, Kitten. Some for the flavour, some for the feeling.” Sirius chuckled at her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.    
  
“Hermione, why aren’t you telling them?” Remus asked gently.    
  
At least he thought it was gently— the massive gulp she took of the firewhisky made him wonder. When she looked up at him, her eyes were tight, and her expression agitated.    
  


“Please, Remus. Just don’t. I don't know how much you heard, but I can't talk about it any more right now. I just want to drink this—” she lifted her glass, making a face at the honey colored liquid inside, “disgusting, emotion-dulling drink, and then I want to crawl into my bed and pretend that I’m not going to end up in Harry’s bed, crying my eyes out tonight, when I will undoubtedly have to tell him what horrible, awful thing I did today. I just want to forget that happened, at least for a few hours. So please, Remus, just don’t.” She swallowed the remaining firewhisky, reaching out to fill her glass again, not noticing the curious look the two men gave each other. Knowing she didn’t want a terrible hangover the next morning— with no Sober-Up potion— she only poured half a glass, before putting the lid on the bottle and sliding it across the table.    
  


“I’m just worried about you, Hermione.” Remus reached for the bottle, and took hold of it, not wanting to give her the opportunity to change her mind.    
  
“Well don’t. Please. I’d rather pretend this never happened, for now.” Hermione took another sip of her drink, and realised it was beginning to have an effect on her senses. She already felt like her head was swimming. Deciding against finishing the remainder of her glass, she stood and turned to Sirius.    
  
“Will you drink this?” She held out the glass to him, and he took it without even seeming to think it over. Swallowing the liquid quickly, Sirius placed the glass on the table before turning back to the witch, and pulling her into a hug.    
  
“It’s going to be okay, Kitten,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. 

Hermione would have regretted her decision to down an entire glass of Firewhisky, if she hadn’t in fact just downed an entire glass of Firewhisky. She sighed, noticing how happy the alcohol made her, and in Sirius’ arms, she felt like everything really would be okay. She was afraid to let go, lest she come crashing back to reality. It was also slightly harder to completely ignore the crush she’d had on the man for years, when she was cuddled into his arms like this, with the alcohol warning her blood. Sighing, she turned her head so her ear was laying against his chest, and she listened to his steady heartbeat.   
  
_ Why couldn’t you have been born twenty years later? _ She thought.    
  
Or at least she  _ thought _ it had been in her thoughts. But feeling the quaking of laughter in his chest made her realise her mistake.    
  
“Oh gods, please tell me I didn’t say that outloud!” She pushed away from Sirius, and pulled her hands down her face in embarrassment. Both wizards chuckled softly, before Sirius placed his hands on her shoulders.   
  
“This is your one and only free pass, Kitten. We’ll let that slide, this time. But I won't resist the temptation if I hear anything like that again.” he said through a wide smirk.    
  
“What do you mean, ‘resist the temptation’?” she asked curiously, not quite sure why that sounded like a threat.    
  
“Ahh, Kitten, I would—” but Hermione would never know what he would do, because Sirius never got to finish that thought.    
  
“He would use the opportunity to embarrass you, Hermione. Isn’t that right, Sirius?” Remus interjected quickly, suddenly walking toward Sirius and clapping him hard on the back.    
  
Hermione tilted her head questioningly at them, before shaking it and walking toward the door, opening it to head out; already to affected by the alcohol and embarrassed by what she let slip to make any sense of what either man said.

The two handsome wizards looked at each other knowingly before chuckling and following her back into the living room. Harry and Ron were huddled together on the couch whispering something, when they heard the three approach and snapped apart. Harry stood clearing his throat, eying Hermione and then Sirius suspiciously, before walking to his godfather and hugging him tightly.

  
“I’m not sure when we will be able to get away again, they’re watching us pretty tightly. It’s a bloody miracle we were able to sneak off today,” Sirius said, hugging Harry back.   
  
“Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer we will be here, anyway. It’s probably not safe to stay in one place too long.” Harry replied. 

  
“Alright, Harry. You take care, you hear? Don’t go doing anything bloody stupid. You listen to Hermione.” He held Harry out at arm's length, before roughing up his hair affectionately, and patting him on the back.   
  
Hermione had turned to hug Remus, who gently folded her into his arms, hugging her tightly before releasing her and smiling.   
  
“Take care, Hermione,” he smiled softly.   
  


He turned to Ron, and the two were shaking hands, when Hermione felt a tug on her sleeve.

  
“Come here, you little witch,” Sirius demanded, holding his arms out to her. Smiling and feeling a blush rise on her cheeks, she walked into his embrace.   
  
Harry eyed the exchange between his godfather and best friend skeptically, before Remus reached out and hugged him as well. Unlike Sirius, Remus hugged quickly, not lingering on the displayed affection. When he was released, Harry looked over to Sirius, who was still bloody hugging Hermione, and saw him whisper something into her ear. She blushed profusely, and shoved at his chest, ending their embrace.   
  
“What the bloody hell? Sirius!” Harry stammered out, unable to keep quiet about the weirdness he was watching between the two.   
  
Hermione looked shocked at his outburst, but Sirius looked playfully at ease. “Yes, Harry?” He raised his eyebrows, a teasing smile on his face.     
“What in Merlin’s name is going on with you two?” Harry demanded. Hermione blushed even further, and started to deny anything improper, but Sirius spoke louder, effectively silencing her.   
  
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed what a delectable witch you have here? You know, I’m not the only one who has, either.” He smirked, looking directly at Hermione before speaking again. “I will find out who he is, Kitten.” The wink he gave her was none too subtle.    
  
Harry and Ron’s jaws were both on the floor, as they stared between Sirius and Hermione.   
  
“Alright, that’s that.” Remus looked apologetically over his shoulder at Hermione as he shoved Sirius out the door onto the stoop. Hermione stood stunned, watching the two wizards leave, before turning back to Harry and Ron.   
  
“What the bloody hell was that about Hermione?! Are you and Sirius—” Ron had rounded on her, and was gesturing between her and the door, trying to get his point across without actually having to say it outloud.   
  
“What?! Ron, No!” she stammered, indignantly, very aware of the alcohol induced lightness she was feeling. “No, Sirius is just— Well, he’s just being Sirius. You know how he gets.”   
  
“Yeah, how he gets with  _ witches _ !” Ron accused, red faced.   
  
“Ronald!” Hermione’s mouth fell open at the accusation.   
  
“Didn’t you hear him, Ron?” Harry asked, finally recovering from the interactions he had witnessed. “He said, ‘I’ll find out who he is.’ Which means that Hermione is hiding something  _ from us _ .” He said the last part slowly, enunciating each word for effect.   
  
“Who  _ who _ is? Hermione, are you seeing someone?” Ron demanded. “Also, why does he call you ‘Kitten’?”

  
“It’s called a nickname, Ron.” She hoped ignoring the first question would make it disappear.

It didn’t.   
  
“Alright, but you still didn’t answer the question, Hermione. Are you seeing someone?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at her.   
  
Her thoughts immediately began bouncing between her accidental admission in the kitchen, and Draco. Before she could come up with a better answer than simply  _ no,  _ a deep blush crept across her face, spreading hotly down her neck, giving her away.

Harry’s jaw dropped again, and his eyebrows shot up.

“HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER! Who in Merlin’s name are you seeing?!”

xXxXxXx


	16. Tea-cohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85  
>  **A/N:** So I know you miss Draco- I do too! I promise he will be back soon! Thank you so much for your reviews! They are so motivating, and they make me want to write faster! You guys are the best! Enjoy :)

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**Tea-cohol**

 

“Don’t you ‘Hermione Jean Granger’ me, Harry Potter!” she yelled, one hand on her hip, one held out pointing a finger at the overreacting boy in front of her.   
  
“Then tell me why you’ve obviously been keeping a _huge_ secret from me, and who in Merlin’s name this mystery man is!?” Harry had thrown his hands up in exasperation, and was now looking at her incredulously.   
  
“It’s no one, Harry. As in, there is no one!”

“But Sirius said—” Ron started, before getting cut off.

  
“Sirius says a lot of things, Ronald!” Hermione was really getting annoyed with this subject, and was just about to leave the room when Ron opened his mouth again.   
  
“It’s Krum, it’s got to be Krum!”

  
“She didn’t even dance with him at the wedding though, Ron.” Harry replied back.   
  
“Well the only people she danced with were you, and Remus, and Sirius—”   
  
“But she said it wasn’t Sirius,” Harry was contemplating the options, still ignoring Hermione, who was shaking her head in the corner. If they were going to be this ridiculous, she might just have to make something up so she could at least get some enjoyment out of their stupidity.

“Oh no, Hermione, NO! Please no. Tell me it’s not Fred or George! Please, Hermione, not one of them!” Ron paled, thinking one of his twin brothers might be the one Sirius was talking about.   
  
“Ronald, honestly. Do you really think one of the twins would be interested in _me_ ? Now _that_ is ridiculous!” She laughed, watching his face pale even further.   
  
“They were all over you at the wedding, Hermione! And all week, now that I think about it. Why didn’t I see it sooner? Oh, no, no Hermione!”   
  
“Ronald Weasley, stop this! It’s not the twins! It’s not Krum. It’s not Sirius. It’s NO ONE. Sirius is teasing me, and trying to rile you two up. Which he was quite successful at, if you ask me!” she snapped, crossing her arms, “And if you two think you have the right to be this bloody intrusive and _rude_ about MY personal business, then you have another thing coming!” she finished before stomping out of the room.   
  
Ron and Harry turned to each other, suddenly feeling a little silly at their outbursts. Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, and Ron exhaled loudly.   
  
“Well, that wasn’t exactly how I meant to go about that…” Harry said in a low voice.   
  
“Me either. I just— you don’t think it’s one of the twins, do you?” Ron whispered, worried.   
  
“Maybe it’s both.” Harry responded, watching Ron’s face turn pink, then bright red, as he sputtered, trying to get the idea through his mind.   


“No! You don’t think—”   
  
“No, Ron, I don’t. I was joking!” Harry laughed, watching his friend return to his normal colour. “I think she’s probably right. Sirius was just riling us up. Me because he knows Hermione and I don’t keep secrets, and you because— well mate, it’s kind of obvious you have a bit more than friendship feelings toward her.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Ron to contest his statement.   
  
“Is it that obvious?” Ron ran a hand down his face, sighing.   
  
“Well, if it wasn’t before, it sure is now. The way you exploded at her, that wasn’t too subtle.” Harry chuckled, clapping Ron on the back.   
  
“You weren’t much better!” Ron accused, hoping it wasn’t as obvious as Harry made it sound. “Anyway, I’m going to go shower. I feel like I should get as many in as I can, while I still can.” he chuckled dryly, before turning, leaving Harry alone by the door, who stood a moment, in the silence, before padding off to the kitchen to find Hermione.   
  
When he walked in the room, she was sitting at the little table, staring into space. He paused for a moment, observing her. She looked worried and stressed, but then again they all were. Kreacher’s little task was only supposed to take a few hours, they had thought. Coming to the end of the second full day since sending him out and having heard nothing— it was disconcerting to say the least. So he understood her feelings. Sighing, Harry entered the kitchen, and walked to the table, running a hand down Hermione’s hair before pulling the chair next to her and sitting down.

“Hey.” he said.   
  
“Hi.”   
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione. That was a bit—”

  
“Dramatic? Overprotective? Nosey?”   
  
Harry laughed, “Yes, all of those. It was just...surprising? For me at least, because— since when do you keep secrets from me?”   
  
“Harry, you know everything of importance. Minus the things I can’t tell you— Order stuff.” she shrugged, “Sirius is just—”   
  
“He’s just Sirius, I know. He was hoping for a reaction, and he bloody well got one.” Harry laughed, shaking his head.   
  
“That he did,” Hermione agreed. “Where did Ron go?”   
  
“Shower.”   
  
Aside from a small non-committal sound, Hermione was silent for a moment, before standing and looking at Harry. “I’m going to try to get some more meaning from that book Dumbledore left.” Harry nodded his head and watched as she turned and left the room.

Both Harry and Ron joined Hermione in the living room after some time, the latter mumbling some sort of embarrassed apology before picking up his book, and reading. They remained that way, silently reading, for a couple hours.   
  
Eventually Ron had needed to stretch his legs, and asked if anyone wanted tea. Both Harry and Hermione laughed at him, before Hermione told him not to worry about it. Even plain tea could not be trusted when it was made by Ron.   
  
She set her book down and was about to stand, when a loud crack sounded from the kitchen, making her jump. The trio rushed toward the sound, hearing a scuffling, and some shouting as well. When they rounded the corner into the kitchen, the scene they were met with was almost comical.   
  
Kreacher had Mundungus gripped tightly by the ear, and he was whacking him on the side with a rolled up newspaper, yelling at the man that he was a dirty, evil, thieving disgrace, and how dare he take Mistress’ belongings.   
  
Harry skidded into the room, Hermione right on his tail. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he shouted, holding his hand out to catch Mundungus’ wand.   


“ _Incarcerus!”_ Hermione pointed her wand at the man, watching ropes bind his extremities.   
  
“What do you want with me?!” he wailed, nervously looking around, still trying to bend away from Kreacher’s newspaper blows.   
  
“Kreacher! Thank you, you can stop now!” Hermione urged the elf. He looked up at her, smiling wickedly before hitting the wizard once more upside the head. He walked over to stand by Harry, who couldn’t hide his laughter.   
  
“He’s a tricky thief, this one is, he’s be hiding all over the place, but Kreacher found him, he did.” Kreacher said proudly as Harry looked down at him.   
  
“Thank you Kreacher, you did very well.” he offered. “You can, uh, go now. Do whatever it is you do.” he dismissed the elf, turning back to the wizard bound on the floor.   
  
“I don’t know why you brought me here, but I didn't do nothin’, I swear!” he stammered, looking up at Harry and Ron, who were now standing side-by-side. Hermione briefly thought how grown— and intimidating— they both looked, before focusing on the task at hand.   
  
“I panicked! I didn’t even want to go on that mission! I’m not gonna die for you— no offense mate. It was You-Know-Who flying behind us! I wasn’t gonna stick around for that!” he sputtered, looking at Harry.   
  
“No one else Disapparated, just so you know.” Ron commented, rolling his eyes.   
  
“Yeah well you’re a bunch of right Gryffindor heroes then, aren’t ya?” he shifted his gaze from Harry to glare at Ron.

“This isn’t about the night you ditched us.” Harry spat, the anger starting to roll off of him. After days of being pent up in this house with nothing to do except worry and think, he was finally starting to show signs of strain.   
  
“Well then what in Merlin’s bloody name am I being chased and kidnapped by a damn house elf for?!” he shouted, earning a smack to the head from Kreacher, who seemed to appear out of nowhere.   
  
“Dirty thief will not speak to Harry Potter like that!” he shrieked. Mundungus flinched away from the elf, a sharp glare affixed to his face.   
  
“We are looking for something,” Harry said, wand pointed threateningly, “and Kreacher here tells us you’ve been by before, nicking valuables.”   
  
Mundungus had the brains to look at least slightly sorry— if not for the act itself, at least for getting caught. He shrugged, “Sirius wasn’t supposed to get out of Azkaban now, was he?”   
  
“So you think it’s alright to _steal_ from someone, so long as they won’t find out? So long as they can do nothing to stop you?” Hermione snapped, pushing herself between Harry and Ron to point her wand at Mundungus.   
  
The color drained from his face. He knew when a witch meant business, and she was obviously not someone to be trifled with.   
  
Harry nudged Hermione gently, placing his hand over her wand and guiding it down to rest at her side before speaking.   
  
“When you were here, _stealing things_ , there was a locket, in the cupboards. Do you remember?” Harry asked, hardly keeping the anticipation out of his voice.   
  
“Uhh, maybe?”

“Do you, or don’t you, remember the locket?” Harry questioned.

“Alright, yeah, I remember the bloody thing. Ugly, if you ask me— dunno why you’d want it back.” Mundungus shrugged his shoulders, slumping a little farther to the floor.

“Well, we do!” Snapped Hermione. Ron put a hand on her forearm, before adding, “Where is it Dung?”

“Ahh, well, yes, you see... I, uh, well, I don’t really know, exactly.” he admitted, a nervous tone in his voice.

“WHA—” Hermione’s bellowed, before getting cut off by Harry.

“What does that mean? Did you sell it?” He pushed, ignoring the fuming witch just behind him.

“Well, I was in Knockturn alley, you see, uh, selling my wares, and some lady from the Ministry turned up, asking for papers, checkin’ to see if I was legal to sell there and what not. I wasn’t, obviously. But this witch, she said she’d be willing to overlook that, for a little deal. She took a right fancy to one of the necklaces I had— that locket; said she’d just walk away, if I let her have it. It looked like an ugly piece of junk to me, so I said sure. Laughed as the bint walked away, thinking such an ugly necklace could only be worn by an ugly toad of a woman like her anyways.” Mundungus finished his story with a rude smirk on his face.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all stared at the man, each of their stomachs felt like they had bottomed out. As if on cue, the three whispered,

“Umbridge.”

xXxXxXx

After a few more questions, they had decided Mundungus had given them all the information he could. Harry looked at Ron, nodding his head to the wizard on the floor, “Watch him, Ron. Hermione?” he walked to the other side of the kitchen, out of earshot, and waited for Hermione to join him.

“Hermione, we can’t let him go, he knows too much now. You’ve got to Obliviate him. You think you can get everything you need to?” Harry asked.

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach, as tears threatened to well in her eyes. Blinking them away, she nodded, afraid her voice would betray her if she spoke. Of course, today of all days, Harry asks this of her.

“Alright then, do you need anything? It’s getting late, we should probably send him on his way before anyone notices he’s missing.” Harry glanced back at Mundungus, completely oblivious to Hermione’s sudden silence.

“No, I’ll just— I don’t need anything.” Squaring her shoulders, Hermione took a deep breath, and then another. She felt sick, but she had to calm down, otherwise there was a good chance she would fry this man’s brain. Walking toward him, she held her wand out, pausing only when she was toe-to-toe with the wizard.

Hermione told herself she could break down once she was finished, but right now, she had to clear her mind. She shook her head a little, aimed her wand, and cast the spell.

Moments later, a very confused Mundungus was looking around blinking his eyes, and mumbling.

“Harry, you best have Kreacher take him back straight away, the temporary confusion is just that— temporary, and we don’t want him remembering any of this when his mind settles.” Hermione mentioned, as she walked from the room. She was already out the door by the time Harry was calling Kreacher to the room.

“I’m going to shower, and maybe nap.” she called over her shoulder, trying for a tone of nonchalance. A shower was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment, but she didn’t know what else to say to get some privacy.

Hermione wasn’t consciously aware of where her feet were taking her, until she pushed open the door to Sirius’ bedroom. Not having a better plan, she closed the door behind her, placing locking and silencing spells on it, before walking over to the bed. She stood, knees touching the mattress, for at least a full minute before throwing back the rumpled covers and climbing inside.

It still smelled like Sirius, likely a mixture of him sitting there earlier today, and just the fact that this was his bedroom, after all. It only took a moment before the tears she had been holding back began to fall. Hermione sobbed into the pillow, her body shaking, as the memories of the day came to the forefront of her mind. Part of her was upset that Sirius wasn’t here to comfort her this time, but a larger part was glad. She needed this time, alone, to begin to process what had happened— what she had done, and figure out how to move on.

Eyes closed, just letting the memories— good and bad— run through her mind, she laid in the bed until she drifted off into a restless sleep.

xXxXxXx

Hermione slowly opened her eyes some time later, groggy from sleep, as well as the emotionally taxing day she had. She stared into the darkness for a moment, until she felt the warmth of the coin at her neck. That must have been what woke her, she thought, as she sat up casting a _Tempus_. It was only four minutes past eleven, which was lucky, because she didn’t want to get into it with Draco tonight. Even a huffy tiff through a coin message was too much drama for her right now. For the first time since she gave him the Galleon, Hermione didn’t want to talk. She pulled the coin out, and read the message.

 

_Hi. Alright?_

_Fine. You?_

_Great, actually. Been out of the Manor looking for you lot all day. Like a vacation._

Hermione smiled a little at that.

_Good. Night, Draco._

She was glad he was getting a break, but she didn’t have it in her to talk tonight.

Hermione tucked the necklace back into her shirt and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to think about Draco right now. They had become quite close during those couple weeks at Hogwarts, but now? They hadn’t said much more than “Hi” to each other since they parted. She knew he thought of her at least once a day, to message her, but that was Order business. Did he think of her other times? On his own time? If she was being honest, she thought of him probably more than she should. A good portion of the time she was supposedly reading here, she was actually thinking about him. Wondering what it was he was doing, how he was handling it, and, embarrassingly, replaying their times together in her memories.

_What was she doing?_ Was she _actually_ caught up on a boy, in the middle of a war, while she was in hiding? How ridiculous! She had to pull herself together! She should be thinking about how they were going to find the Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort, win the bloody war! Not about _boys!_

Sitting up and swinging her legs out of the bed, Hermione headed into the bathroom. She hadn’t wanted a shower when she came up here, but now it sounded like a good idea. Clear her mind, refresh her, blah blah blah.

She undressed, doing her best to ignore the dark purple scar that ran across her ribs. She hated it, and everything it reminded her of. Stepping into the warm water, Hermione closed her eyes, and tried to forget everything.

xXxXxXx

Walking down the stairs toward the living room, Hermione knew the boys were both sleeping before she reached the bottom step. The lights were all out, and it was dead quiet. She went into the kitchen, deciding a cup of tea was probably a good idea, at least to fill her stomach a little. She put the kettle on, enjoying the mundaneness of doing things the Muggle way. Plus, the water tasted better when it was warmed without magic.

When it was hot, she filled her cup and added the tea, before bringing it to the table. She was about to sit down when she saw the bottle of firewhisky sitting across the table. Without a second thought, she grabbed the bottle, and added a splash— or two if she were being honest— to her tea, before sitting in her chair, hands cupping the steaming mug. She was beginning to understand Draco’s penchant for the stuff.

And there he was again. He was never far from her mind, and she was really starting to notice that. Shaking her head, she sipped her tea, and tried to enjoyed the silence.

Three cups of firewhisky-enhanced tea and several hours later, Hermione heard a rustle coming from the living room. She had a dim light on in the kitchen, and she knew whichever boy it was would see it and come find her. Sighing, she said goodbye to the silence, and stood, grabbing another cup from the counter. She had just filled it with water and turned toward the table when Ron walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, ‘Mione. What are you doing up? We figured you had accidentally fallen asleep, and just let you be…” Ron yawned, placing his hands on the back of the chair nearest him.

“I did, but I guess I must have had enough rest, because I woke up a couple hours ago and couldn’t get back to sleep.” She admitted, handing him the cup.

He looked down at it, and then back at her, raising his eyebrows.

“I heard you wake up, knew you’d follow the light, and made you a cup.” she explained.

“You’re the best, ‘Mione.” He gave her a crooked smile, pulling out the chair and sitting down. Hermione grabbed her own cup, filling it with water and her tea, and sat down in her chair. After just a moment's contemplation, she reached down to grab the bottle of firewhisky that was sitting on the floor by her chair. She leaned toward Ron, topping his glass off before doing the same to her own.

Fully smirking at her, Ron swirled his cup a bit, and took a sip. “You really know how to brighten a bloke's night, Hermione.”

“Yeah, well it’s nice to have someone to drink with.”

Ron took another sip of his drink. He sighed deeply in satisfaction, before looking back up at the witch in front of him.

“I really am sorry, about how I behaved earlier. It was...uncalled for.” His cheeks pinked a little.

“It’s fine, Ron. Just don’t do it again.” She sighed. “I am allowed to have a life, you know. One that I don't _have_ to tell you and Harry about.”

“So there—” Ron shook his head slightly, and cleared his throat, deciding it was wiser to start that sentence over. “Yeah, I know ‘Mione, you are. It’s just weird. Ever since you joined the Order, it seems like there’s something you’re keeping from us. We’ve been friends for 6 years, and you’ve never kept anything from us before.” He was actually pouting.

Hermione reached for the firewhisky, generously topping off her glass, and she absently wondered if she had more whisky than tea at this point. This should probably be her last cup. She was definitely feeling the effects. In a deliberate slowness, she sipped her glass, hardly noticing the taste now. Setting the cup down in front of her, she looked at Ron, who seemed to be sinking in his seat.

“Ron. Can you think about what you just said for a moment?” She paused, giving him time to do just that. “Since I joined the _Order_ , I’ve been keeping secrets?”

He nodded, eyes slightly wide as he realised his mistake.

“So it’s really no surprise that I would have some secrets now, right? Because I have joined a _secret_ Order, and have been sworn to _secrecy._ Honestly, Ron, you’re being ridiculous.” she huffed, taking a long drink from her tea.

Whisky. She could just call it whisky now.

“Ok ok ok!” Ron had his hands up defensively, “You’re right, I’m wrong. What’s new?” He rolled his eyes, drinking from his own cup.

“Seriously, Ron?” Hermione didn’t even know what to say to him. Instead she took another drink, doing her best to ignore the wizard sitting in front of her.

“Sorry, ‘Mione. I’m a git— you know this, I know this— just threaten to hex me or something. I’ll go off to bed, and we can be back to normal tomorrow.” he shrugged with a slight chuckle, standing and gulping down his tea. Oblivious to the hurt look on Hermione’s face, Ron set his cup down, thanked her for it, and padded back to the living room.

Hermione’s head fell onto the table, and she proceeded to bang her forehead on its surface a few times. When she felt nothing but a headache, she stopped, rubbing the now sore spot, before returning to her drink. Taking a few more sips, she absentmindedly pulled out her coin. Wondering what Draco was doing, she tapped it with her wand, and sent a message before she even fully realized what she was doing.

_HI_

She took the necklace off her neck, placing it on the table beside her, and took another sip of her drink. She waited a few moments, but when the coin did not give any messages back, she stood, and quietly walked into the living room. She didn’t want to light a _L_ _umos_ , in fear of waking the boys, so she very slowly inched her way to where she knew she left her beaded bag.

It turns out it’s quite difficult to be stealthy and quiet when you’ve had so much alcohol. Hermione ended up stubbing her toe on a chair, banging her elbow on a bookshelf, and nearly tripping over Harry’s feet before she made it to her bag. She was lucky those two boys were such heavy sleepers.

Bending down to pick up her bag, she clutched it tightly and made her way back to the kitchen. She managed to make it there with only a single stumble over Ron’s shoe. Once back inside the kitchen, she sat at the table again, tucking her legs up into her body on the chair. She glanced over at the coin, disappointment sinking her stomach when it was blank.

It took her a minute to dig through her bag and find exactly what she was looking for. Pulling her Walkman out of the bag _,_ Hermione was grateful that Mr. Weasley had spent so much time questioning her about Muggle things, and going over various ways to make them work in wizarding locations. The many conversations had her well prepared to charm the device to work— even in Hogwarts, which she was quite proud of.

Slipping the headphones around her neck, Hermione dug around her bag once more looking for a CD. When she found what she was after, she popped it into the device, and put the headphones over her ears.

Closing her eyes, Hermione listened to the melody for the duration of the song. When it ended, she had tears running down her face. Wiping them with her sleeve, she picked up the coin and sent another message.

_I wish you were here._

Sighing she finished off her drink. Setting the cup on the table, she whispered “Tea-cohol,” and then began giggling, because that was such a silly word! It wasn’t even a word, actually, she just made it up! Hermione continued giggling quietly, resting her head on her knee, as her shoulders shook. Eventually the giggles passed, and she felt a little ridiculous. She was glad no one was with her to see this absurd behavior.

Picking up the coin again, Hermione saw a blank surface, again. “Draco! Where are you?” she whispered to herself, before writing that exact phrase on the coin and sending it. Finally feeling tired again, Hermione stood from the table, leaving her Walkman and bag, and padded off to the living room.

It was still dark outside, but the first morning light would soon be coming through the windows. Hermione stood at the foot of her sleeping bag for a moment, but quickly decided she didn’t want to sleep alone tonight; she pointed her wand at Harry’s bag, enlarging it slightly, before crawling in next to the sleeping boy. He made a quiet sleepy grunt, turning his body to spoon hers, and threw an arm over her waist. Hermione cuddled up to her best friend, and felt tears prick in her eyes. It had been a long day. The longest. She wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened.

Tears fell silently from her eyes, as she fought the memories of her childhood, and the pain of what she had done. She cried until she had no more tears, and exhaustion took her body to sleep.

xXxXxXx


	17. Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love: ******Dreamingofstars85  
>  **A/N:** Guys. I’m serious, I miss Draco. We are only a few chapters away from his return, and my ability to keep my cool is gone. So how about an extra chapter this week? Plus, I got some really lovely comments and PM’s this week, and that always makes me feel like posting early!   
> **Shoutout** to Kynlei , somekindofwildgirl  & Ajewell2005, who review every chapter, and make me feel like a million bucks!  
> Xoxo, Luce

 

 

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**Tomorrow**

Hermione knew she hadn’t slept long enough when she opened her eyes and there was only a dim morning light coming through the window. She was curled into Harry facing his chest, his arm over her side. Lifting her head to look over his body, she saw that both he and Ron were still sleeping peacefully. Of course; those two tossers had the ability to sleep through anything, including severe emotional turmoil, unlike her, apparently. 

Scooting away from Harry slowly, so as not to wake him, Hermione quietly wriggled out of the sleeping bag, and stood, stretching her sore limbs. Padding off to the kitchen, she tried not to focus on her pounding headache. At the sight of the  _ much-more-empty-than-yesterday _ bottle of firewhisky on the table, her stomach rolled, and she groaned, cursing herself for not thinking to pack any Sober-Up.  _ That had been a mistake _ , she thought grumpily, reaching for a clean mug before starting a cuppa.  

Setting the water to boil, Hermione turned to sit in a chair while she waited, and cast a  _ Tempus _ , wondering what time her body had decided to betray her by waking up.    
  
It was half six.    
  
She groaned again, laying her head on the cold surface of the table.  _ Why had she thought drinking so much last night was a good idea?  _ She had raised her wand, and added the boiling water to her cup before it hit her again.  _ Her parents. _ She let out a ragged breath, willing the pain away, pleading with it to pass over her, to let her mind rest.  _ Yes, that was why she had turned to firewhisky last night. _ Straightening her neck, she banged her forehead against the hard surface of the table twice— which only increased the pounding of her headache— before standing to grab her tea. Walking back to the table, she  _ Accio’d  _ the firewhisky and added just a splash.    
  
“Hair of the dog, right Sirius?” she chuckled dryly under her breath, taking a sip.    
  
When she felt the coin at her chest warm, it sent a jolt of fear straight through her.  _ Something happened, _ that was the only reason Draco would message her this early. She heard some of the threads in the collar of Harry’s jersey snap as she hastily reached inside it to grab at the necklace. She pulled the chain off her head, and tapped it, heart racing.    
  
_ What’s going on? Are you ok?  _ __   
__   
Huh? Her heart slowed a bit as she realised he was not in danger, or warning  _ her  _ of danger. What’s going on? What did that mean? Why would he think—  _ oh no, oooooh no. No no no no no. _ She suddenly recalled sending him something.  _ What had she said?!  _ Ugh! This was possibly an even better reason to avoid the firewhisky than her pounding headache, and queasy stomach. Taking a deep breath, she messaged him back.    
  
_ I’m fine, Draco.  _ __   
__   
There was really nothing else she could say. She couldn’t even remember what she had sent him the night prior, and she didn’t want to say something that would end up giving away more information than she already had. She took a gulp of her tea, burning her tongue and regretting not adding more firewhisky. _ Yes whisky, no whisky— Merlin, she was going to get whiplash. _ She squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the coin to warm again, preemptively embarrassed over what she may have said. When it grew hot, her eyes shot open.   
  
_ You’re fine? What was that about then? _ __   
__   
Crap. He wasn’t giving her anything to go off of. She was going to have to admit she’d been too pissed to remember what she said. A hot blush crept over her cheeks as she wrote back.    
  
_ I may have over indulged last night. I don’t remember…  _ __   
__   
His response was immediate.    
  
_ You, Potty, and Weasel had a party?  _ __   
  


She rolled her eyes at his nicknames. They were ridiculous. As she tapped the coin sending a message back, she knew he was not going to stop asking until she said something believable. Whether that was the truth or a lie, she wasn’t sure yet. 

__   
_ No… Just me. _ __   
__   
_ You got pissed, by yourself? _ __   
__   
_ Yes.  _ __   
_   
_ __ What happened?

_ Nothing, I’m fine.  _ __   
__   
_ Hermione. _ __   
__   
There it was. She could see him say it in her mind, his tone incredulous, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows slightly.    
  
_ Draco.  _ __   
__   
_ I know something happened. Tell me.  _ __   
__   
What she wanted was to tell him to go away, but he likely wouldn’t listen to that. He would just continue sending her messages all day long, and she didn’t feel like wearing a hot coin between her breasts for the rest of the day, repeatedly checking it to make sure he wasn’t sending important information. No, that wouldn’t do. She just didn’t know how to say it. How do you tell someone that your parents don’t even know you exist anymore? That you quite possibly irreparably erased yourself from their memories, forever? She took a tentative sip of her tea, cautious not to burn her mouth again. When it passed her lips without scolding her, she took a gulp, glad she had added the whisky.  _ Definitely yes whisky, _ she thought. Trying to come up with a response that didn’t sound overly emotional, but also wasn’t clinical, took a minute. When she finally decided, she tapped her wand, watching the words appear.    
  
__ The only person who knows I’m their daughter is a sick-minded psychopath.

_  
__Now I understand the drinking. Are you ok?_ _  
_ _  
_She let out a huff, shaking her head. _Was she ok?_ _Seriously?_ No. She was not ok. Hermione didn’t think she would ever be ok, and that crushing reality was almost too much to bear. As she sent her reply, she absently wondered how many firewhisky-teas was _too_ many before 8am.   
  
_I’ll be fine._  
  
 _I’m sorry, Hermione._ _  
_ _  
_ _Me too._ _  
_ __  
And that was it. There wasn’t anything more to say. It’s not like they could have some deep, meaningful or comforting conversation anyway. It was already hard enough reading the short messages that were sent as they flashed on the coins.

Sighing, Hermione put the necklace back on. Holding her cup in two hands, staring at the wall with a sad, vacant expression on her face, she thought about her parents, hoping doing it now would desensitise her— make it more bearable to talk about in the future. She finished her tea, but did nothing more than set her cup aside as she continued to wallow. After a time, she let her head sink down to rest on the table, her cheek again pressing into the cold, unforgiving surface.   
  
That was how Harry found her two hours later, when he walked into the kitchen. He stood silently in the doorway for a moment, watching her back rise and fall with each shallow breath she took. Just when he was sure she was sleeping, she made a little sniffle, and he watched her bring a hand up, seeming to wipe her eye.    
  
“Hermione?” he called softly, walking toward the table.    
  
She jumped, straightening in her chair, and wiping her eyes again before turning to face him, the fakest smile he had ever seen plastered on her face.    
  
“Hermione, what’s wrong?”    
  


“Oh, it’s nothing Harry.” She waved her hand, brushing the question off as she stood. “Would you like some tea?”   
  
“It’s not nothing if it’s made you cry, Hermione.” Harry’s voice was full of concern, as he placed a hand on her forearm.   
  
Hermione didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t decided yet what to tell Harry and Ron, if anything. She certainly wasn’t ready to talk about this. _So what do I say?_ Her heartbeat raced as she tried to quickly make a decision. _She wasn’t ready! She wasn’t ready!_   
  
Rather than saying anything, Hermione turned into Harry, who automatically opened his arms to her. She held on, hugging him as if he were the lifeline she had so desperately needed. He hugged her back tightly, one arm stroking down her hair and back, all the while murmuring quiet reassurances, not even knowing what was the matter.   
  
“Shh, it’s alright...Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it... You’re alright…Hermione, it’s ok, shh.”   
  
The answer came to her in a crashing realisation. She couldn’t burden him with this, too. Harry already had so much on his plate— the fate of the wizarding world, for starters— he took everything, everyone else’s problems, and made them his personal mission. Took the blame for them, even when he was so far removed from the problem that it was almost laughable. He was still caught up on her nightmares— thinking they were all from that night at the Ministry, which he of course blamed himself for. 

No. She couldn’t let him think her parents were... _ gone _ ... because of him. He didn’t need to shoulder that blame. The decision weighing heavy on her, Hermione took a deep, calming breath, readying herself for another lie.    
  
“Sorry Harry, it’s just— I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares.” She shrugged her shoulders, trying to play it off as just that, nightmares; and she supposed that’s exactly what this would become, anyway, just another thing to haunt her in her sleep. 

“Are you sure? You aren’t usually this...shaken up,” Harry held her out a little, studying her face, swiping a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.    
  
“It was just a particularly vivid dream, I guess. Seeing Dolohov outside of the house must have triggered it.” That wasn’t a complete lie, at least. She really had been shaken up to see the wizard that nearly killed her— would have if he hadn’t been silenced.    
  
Harry sighed, observing her for a moment before he leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead.    
  
“It’s going to be alright, Hermione. I promise.” Though his words were comforting, Hermione could hear the doubt in them. Ignoring it, choosing to try and believe him, she nodded her head.    
  
“Thank you, Harry.”    
  
They both stayed put, Hermione with her head on Harry’s chest, and him resting his chin on her head, for several moments, until they were startled by a throat clearing.    
  
“Ouch!” Harry said, chuckling and rubbing a hand on his sore chin, which Hermione had slammed into when she jumped at Ron’s unexpected intrusion.    
  
“Oh, sorry!” she apologised, fighting back her smile. It really wasn’t funny to laugh at someone’s pain, but the face he was making, and the little red spot on his chin were making it hard to keep a straight face. 

“Oi, you two done being all lovey-dovey? Can a bloke make a sandwich or what?” Ron grumbled, making his way to the counter.    
  
“Lovey-dovey? Mate, that would be like you trying something with Ginny.” Harry made a disgusted face, and Ron made gagging noises as he shook his head, trying to clear the unsavory image. “She’s…” Hermione could see him searching for the right word to describe their  _ platonic _ relationship.    
  
“Family,” she supplied, smiling at him.    
  
“ _ Family.”  _ He agreed, nodding vigorously. If either of them noticed Ron’s relief at hearing that, they didn’t mention it.    
  


xXxXxXx

 

The following days and weeks passed slowly, uneventfully. Kreacher having already taken to Hermione, also decided Harry, and by extension Ron, were good and noble wizards. He picked up his house elf duties, and began cleaning the Grimmauld Place until the surfaces gleamed. He fixed up three bedrooms upstairs so the trio finally had beds to sleep in, and best of all, he started cooking. The meals could rival those of Molly Weasley— though no one would ever say that out loud. It was wonderful to have a full belly again, and everyone was much in much brighter spirits. 

They took turns each day, taking the invisibility cloak and standing watch at the Ministry. After learning the locket had landed in Umbridge’s possession, they decided the only thing to do would be to find out if she still had it, and try to get it back. That meant they needed a plan to sneak into the Ministry. They began gathering details on anything that could be of importance; what days were busiest, which entrances to use, who could be counted on to arrive alone at a specified time, etc. They also nicked the Daily Prophet when it was possible, to keep up on news.    
  
When it was Ron’s turn to watch the Ministry, Hermione and Harry practiced their Occlumency. Hermione had packed the books Draco had insisted she read, and she gave those to Harry to look over. She knew she had to be careful when giving him advice— it couldn’t be too detailed or else he would know she had first hand experience— but at least they both got in a little practice. 

Because everyone was being watched so closely, communication with the Order was difficult— almost non-existent. Remus had come one night, about a week and a half after his first visit, but he could only stay long enough to ensure that everyone was still safe, and that there was no news on their end yet. Hermione had given him a brief letter for Professor McGonagall, detailing some of the plans for the upcoming year at Hogwarts. Draco had told her one day prior that the Carrows were to be sent in to regulate the staff and students, and that Snape was to be Headmaster. The information wasn’t pivotal, but it was something. At least they could prepare themselves for that reality. 

It was two days after sending that letter to McGonagall that the papers came out stating just what she had said. Snape was to be installed as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were furious. Hermione understood their anger, though because she knew that Snape still secretly sided with the Order, she didn’t feel it. She pretended to be just as upset as the boys, and hoped her acting was good enough. Luckily, they were too distracted by their personal struggles with this news to notice that Hermione was not. 

Hermione had taken to what Ron had nicknamed ‘ _ Death Eater watching _ ’ from the front window each morning. The pair of Death Eaters stationed to watch numbers eleven and thirteen changed daily, but they were there, each and every day and night. Hermione wasn’t sure if she wanted to see Draco out there or not, but she never did. She never saw Rodolphus either, for which she was glad. She wasn’t ready to see him, even from behind a  _ Fidelius _ .    
  
The days leading up to the beginning of September brought more and more Death Eaters, dressed as odd-looking, but not-quite-out-of-place, Muggles. By the morning of the first, there were at least twelve of them lingering about, obviously thinking Harry was dumb enough to stroll right out of Grimmauld Place and head to the Platform.    
  


“It’s weird, isn’t it? Six years we’ve been on our way to Hogwarts today, but now…” Ron trailed off, looking wistfully out the window.    
  


“Yeah,” Harry agreed, also lost in thought.    
  
Hermione sighed, before leaving the boys at the little window, and heading into the kitchen. She fixed herself a tea, adding a generous splash of firewhisky, as was now habit. Another good thing about Kreacher being back was the liquor was never out. It only took about a week for Hermione to stop berating herself for drinking so much. Or at least mostly stop. It didn’t help anyone if she was wallowing in her feelings all the time, and the firewhisky kept her from drowning. She knew it wasn’t the healthiest option, but she wasn’t a drunk, and there weren’t really any  _ other  _ options, so…. 

She heard their footsteps as they approached, and quickly sent the bottle back into the cupboard with a flick of her wand. Both the boys had seen her drinking, but neither knew quite how much, and she didn’t feel like answering questions. It was just easier this way.    
  
Harry walked in first, placing a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on the top of her head, before plopping down in one of the chairs at the table. Ron went to the fridge and pulled out leftovers, warming them with magic, and bringing them to the table. It was only about an hour since they’d had lunch, but he had a bottomless pit for a stomach.    
  
“I think we should do it tomorrow.” Harry said, crossing his arms and looking to Hermione.    
  
“Wha—” 

He held up a hand, “Now hear me out on this. We’ve been watching, and waiting, and collecting data for a month now. There is nothing more we can learn in a week, or a month, so we might as well just get it over with. Look, if she doesn’t have the locket, all this was a waste. If she has it, she’s probably figured out that it doesn’t open. Who knows how long she will keep a ‘broken’ locket. Every day we wait is one more day for her to get rid of it. We can’t let that happen.” Harry finished, deeply drawing in a breath after his rant.    
  
“What do you think the chances are that she’s already chucked it?” Ron asked, looking at Harry.

  
“I dunno.” Harry shook his head. “Hopefully she thinks it’s valuable, even broken, and kept it.   
  
“Maybe she was able to open it and now she’s possessed.” Ron said, chuckling, “Not that it would make much of a difference, she was already a nasty bint to begin with.”   
  
“Harry—” Hermione started, unsure if this was going to be the best plan.    
  
“Oh c’mon, Hermione. Harry has a point. We've learned what we can. Let's get it over with.” Ron spoke over her before she could lay all her doubts on the table. 

  
Sighing, Hermione wrung her hands together and closed her eyes. The boys gave her a moment in silence, as she mentally went over the facts they had already gained—  _ Apparition had been stopped in and out of the ministry. Only the uppermost members were allowed Floo connections to their homes. Everyone else was given funny little tokens to get inside. Umbridge’s office was likely on level one—  _  Knowing Harry was right, she set her shoulders and opened her eyes.    
  
“Alright. Tomorrow. Let’s go over the plan.”     
  


xXxXxXx


	18. According to the Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85  
>  **A/N:** You guys are seriously the best. It's overwhelming and wonderful, and I love you all. Can I tell you a secret? I’m writing Draco! Finally! :o Yay! Anyways, my entire house is down with the flu/sickness, and I’m writing from my couch, where I've been mostly stationed for 3 days, so that's why it's a little late today, sorry! 
> 
> **P.S** Happy Valentine's Day!  <3

 

 

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**According to the Plan**   
  


According to the plan, it should have been an in and out mission. According to the plan it should have been fairly easy. According to the plan, they should have stuck together the whole time. According to the plan, Ron should not be laying on the forest floor, bleeding out in agony under her fingertips.    
  
But things don’t always go according to the plan.    
  
  


xXxXxXx

**Several Hours Earlier—**

**_  
_ ** Everyone had woken up that morning in a somber mood. They had a plan, and it was a good plan, but they were still nervous. Kreacher had fixed breakfast, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat around the table picking at it to be polite— none of them were really hungry.    
  
“Hermione, just consider it, will you?” Ron pleaded, one last time. It was the third time he asked, and it was going to be the third time she denied him.    
  
“No, Ron. No. You’ve asked, I’ve answered. I am not letting you two do this alone. If anyone is staying here, it should be Harry, not me!”    
  
“Well, you both know there’s no way in Merlin’s bloody hell that I’m staying here.” Harry shrugged. He was too nervous to put any heat behind the words he already told them the night before anyway.   
  


“I just had to ask one last time.” Ron looked away, hiding his concern. Hermione knew he was just trying to protect her, but how did he not realise that she was with them, no matter what? It had been six years of their trio, she wasn’t separating it now.    
  
Sighing, Hermione went over her mental checklist one last time. She had already bottled up the Polyjuice Potion that had been brewing all month, packing two extra vials, just in case. She had also put everything important back into her beaded bag. It really wasn’t critical to have their sleeping bags and toothbrushes to enter the Ministry, but it made her feel a little more confident and it had preoccupied her for the time it took to pack it all.    
  
As the trio stood from the table in the kitchen, Kreacher bustled in wishing them luck, and promising a delicious and grand supper when they returned. Thanking him, they walked to the living room, grabbing their last minute items. Hermione would Apparate first with Ron to their starting point, then back to Apparate with Harry. They were no longer eleven and couldn't all three fit under the Invisibility cloak. 

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as Hermione held tight to Ron, both adjusting under the cloak, and then disappearing with a resounding crack. Harry only had to wait a minute before Hermione was back, throwing the cloak over him and holding tight to his hand. With one last look at each other, Harry’s body was squeezed through space and landed in the alleyway outside of the Muggle theater where their plan started.    
  
Ron was tucked behind a large rubbish bin, waiting for them. Both Harry and Hermione quickly made their way over to him, ducking down as well. Their first target was supposed to arrive shortly before 8:00am, so the trio covered themselves— at least their heads and upper bodies— with the Invisibility cloak, hearts beating rapidly as they waited. 

Five minutes before eight, a sharply dressed woman apparated into the alleyway, straightening her skirt and searching her handbag for something. Hermione had hit her with a non-verbal  _ Stupify _ before she even took one step from her Apparition point. Ron and Harry quickly rushed from under the cloak to grab her, while Hermione unlocked the back door to the Muggle theater. They dragged her inside the deserted building, placing her limp body backstage on some cushions. Hermione pulled a hair from her head, and Ron riffled through her bag, pulling out an identification card as well as three funny little coins.    
  
“Mafalda Hopkirk, looks like.” Ron said, handing one of the coins to each Harry and Hermione.    
  
Taking one of the vials out of her bag, Hermione unstoppered it and dropped the hair in before shaking it, watching the color turn a lighter puce. Grimacing, she opened it again and tilted the disgusting contents into her mouth. Her features started changing almost immediately, and within a minute Hermione was completely transformed.    
  
“Alright then, I’ll meet you back here shortly.” Hermione said, voice wavering as she smoothed her hands over her clothes nervously.    
  
“No more than ten minutes Hermione.” Harry said sternly, before reaching out and pulling her into a tight hug, kissing her forehead as he did.    
  
“Good luck ‘Mione.” Ron embraced her when Harry finally let go, whispering into her hair.    
  
“It will be fine you two. Stop it,” she said sharply, her own fears ringing clear through her tone. Hermione turned from them and walked away.    
  
“I don’t like her going out by herself.” Ron said, apprehensively watching Hermione’s back as she walked away.    
  
“You know she can take care of herself just as well as you or I can, if not better, right Ron?” Harry asked, chuckling.    
  
“Doesn’t make me worry any less.”

“Yeah, me either.”   
  
  


xXxXxXx

It hadn’t taken long for Hermione to return, handing a dark brown colored vial of prepped Polyjuice over to Ron. He made a face, but quickly downed the potion. Looking at the badge she had  _ borrowed  _ before handing it to Ron, she took note of the name— Reg Cattermole.     
  
“I really do feel guilty about that— I never thought those puking pastels would actually come in  _ handy.  _ Disgusting is what they are.” She was rambling nervously as she made some adjustments to Ron’s robes.    
  
“Alright, let’s get this over with Her— er, Mafalda.” Ron said in Cattermole’s voice. The two headed back up the alleyway, leaving Harry to wait for them under the cloak. 

It seemed like a long time had passed by the time they rounded the corner again, and Harry was relieved to see them. Hermione handed him a vial which he drank down with a grimace, as Ron gave some details of their encounter.    
  
“Not really sure who you’re gonna be Harry— besides tall.” Ron watched as Harry's features changed.    
  
“Whoever he was, he went home with an awful nosebleed. Here, let me adjust your robes Harry.” Hermione said, pointing her wand and lengthening Harry’s robes considerably.    
  
“Whoa, mate, that’s scary.” Ron’s eyebrows were raised, and Harry wondered exactly what he looked like.    
  
“Alright, everyone have their tokens? Good. Let’s go then, we have to be quick about this.” Hermione said, nodding affirmatively and turning toward the street.    
  
They walked to the curb, and toward the Ministry’s street entrance. Luckily, Ron had known its location since he was a tot, having had it pointed out by his dad on many occasions.    
  
“Alright ‘Mione, meet you in there then.” Ron said as he and Harry turned toward the men’s loo, and she headed for the ladies.    
  
Trying to act natural in a bathroom full of other women, while also looking for a secret entrance into the Ministry of Magic was not something Hermione thought she did very well. She nervously walked in, glancing around and watched two ladies walk into stalls, shutting the door. Moments later she heard the distinct sound of flushing, and then the stall doors opened again. Taking a deep breath in, she purposefully walked into the next open stall, and shut the door behind her.    
  
Looking around the cramped space, there was nothing to clue her in on what exactly to do to get in. Panic set in as she realised she had to figure it out, or likely be caught. Committing the biggest taboo of loo etiquette, Hermione bent her knees slightly, and lowered her head toward the floor. She could see the shoes of the woman in the next stall over— wait, shoe, not plural— and then nothing. The woman had stepped up onto something…  _ Oh no _ , Hermione groaned quietly.    
  
“This better be bloody right Hermione.” she whispered to herself as she lifted one leg up, setting her foot  _ inside _ the toilet bowl. It was reassuring when rather than feeling soaking wet toilet water all over her foot, she felt nothing. She stepped up placing her other foot in the bowl, and looked up. Shaking her head, she reached out, pulling the chain, and closed her eyes.    
  
She emerged a moment later, quite forcefully, through a fireplace in the Ministry’s Atrium. Hurrying aside she began looking for Harry and Ron, hoping they had figured it out, too. 

Once she spotted them, they headed for the lift together, thanking the gods it was empty.    
  
“Runcorn, that’s what someone called me.” Harry said to her once the doors were shut.    
  
Nodding, Hermione nervously waited as the lift descended, heading to level one. She groaned and stepped away from Ron and Harry when it slowed and the doors began to open at level five. A scowling wizard walked in, looking directly at Ron.    
  
“Cattermole. I requested someone from Magical Maintenance in my office. I would have thought you’d be on top of this, what with your wife’s interrogation today.” He said rudely.    
  
“Oh, uh, yeah, right.” Ron stammered. “What was the, uh, problem again?”    
  
“The fucking rain, Cattermole. It’s raining in my office.” The wizard said as the lift doors opened again on level six. 

  
“Right. Right, I’ll get on that right away.” Ron started.    
  
“You know, if it were  _ my  _ wife being interrogated today, and the head of the DMLE was waiting on  _ me _ to do a job, I’d make it a priority,” The wizard growled, walking out of the lift.    
  
Ron eyes widened, and he responded “Yes sir, I’ll get on it first thing.”   
  
Hermione began going over spells that Ron would need to try as the lift headed down. As the doors opened and announced  _ Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement,  _ Ron gave one last worried look at Hermione before walking off to find the Head’s office. The doors shut again, and Hermione worried her lip.    
  
“You know, Harry, I better go after him. I think he’s going to need help…” she said, as the voice announced  _ Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff. _

Before Harry could agree with her, the lift doors opened, revealing none other than Dolores Umbridge and the Minister themselves.    
  
“Ahh, there you are Mafalda. Excellent.” Umbridge’s disgustingly cheery voice greeted them as she stepped on the lift.    
  
Hermione nervously smiled at her, not sure what to say.    
  
“There you go, Dolores. Mafalda can do the record-keeping at the trials, and you’ll be set to go,” the Minister said, walking past Harry onto the lift.    
  
Hermione watched Harry give her a barely noticeable shrug as he exited the lift. Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to steady her nerves as she descended into hell with vipers.    
  
  


xXxXxXx

Harry had to push his worries for Hermione aside for the time being. The sooner he finished searching— and hopefully finding— the locket, the sooner he could find her again. She would be fine. She’d be fine.    
  
He walked away from the lift like he owned the place, and the way people shirked away from him, it was clear that whoever’s body he was in— Runcorn, was it? — really did have a pretty high standing here. He found a little alcove away from any prying eyes, where he was able to put the Invisibility cloak on before walking back into the main hall. The scene he walked into though, was enough to halt his steps. Desks were set up in tidy little rows, each manned by a witch or wizard, who was busily working away. Papers zoomed across the room into piles and stacks, and upon closer inspection, he realised, into pamphlets. Harry couldn’t hide his disgust as he read the title.   
  
  


**MUDBLOODS**

_ And the Dangers They Pose  _ _   
_ _ to a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society  _   
  
  


Bile rose in his throat and his hands began shaking. How could this woman get away with this? Taking a breath, Harry turned away from the organized hate, and began scanning the room. It didn’t take long for his eyes to land on the office door in the far center.  _ That has to be her office. _ Making his way toward the door, careful not to bump anyone in the crowded hall, Harry was unprepared for what he would see.    
  
The door itself was unremarkable, plain wood with a knob to open it. What had him absolutely raging, was the peephole. Or rather, what was in place of the peephole. A magical eye was stuck in the spot where the hole would be, and there was no mistaking that eye— it was Moody’s. 

“Bloody fucking cunt!” Harry whispered under his breath. Looking around the room, he knew it would be far to obvious to just open the door and walk in. Someone would notice the door opening and closing of its own accord. Reaching into his pocket, Harry grabbed one of the Decoy Detonators he packed, and crouched down, winding it up and setting it loose toward the desks in the center of the room.    
  
The device reached one of the middle desks before it went off with a loud bang, spewing smoke everywhere. Sudden chaos erupted as the workers tried to find the source of the disruption. Once Harry was sure all the attention was on the Decoy, he quickly opened the door to the office and slipped in.    
  
Blinking rapidly, Harry had to shake his head to get his bearings straight. This office was like taking a time-turner. The walls were a disgusting pink with ridiculous cat photos everywhere. Little doilies littered every surface, and posters of Umbridge herself were hanging along the walls. Harry shivered with disgust as memories of her time at Hogwarts washed over him. Shaking them off, he walked toward the door where a little telescope attachment was poking out. He peeked through it, and saw the chaos of the Detonator was still in full swing. He had only a few minutes if he wanted to slip out unnoticed. Yanking the telescope off the door, Harry grabbed Moody’s eye and shoved it in his pocket. He then turned to face the office.    
  
“ _ Accio _ Locket!” he said.    
  
Nothing. Not that he thought that would work, but it was worth a shot. Harry made his way to the desk and began shuffling papers and moving cat figurines, looking for the Horcrux. What he found instead was a pile of personnel folders, which he had planned to ignore until one name caught his attention. 

It was Mr. Weasley’s file. Harry quickly scanned the page, not very surprised by what he saw. _Arthur Weasley, married, seven children. Known acquaintance/supporter of Undesirable No. 1. Tracking all movements in case of contact._ _  
_ _  
_Undesirable No. 1? Huh, Harry shook his head. Apparently that was him. He made a mental note to make sure Arthur knew his movements were being tracked, but otherwise put the file back and continued his search. He opened drawers, looked behind books on the shelves, and even checked under her grotesque cat figurines. Nothing. _Damn!_ Knowing his time with the decoy was very near exhausted, Harry peeked through the hole in the door, then slipped out unnoticed. He made his way toward the lift, and stepped on, sighing heavily and removing the cloak. At least he made it in and out undetected.   
  
The lift had only been active a moment before it stopped on level two and Ron walked in looking dejected.   
  
“Ron, Ron it’s me!” Harry said.   
  
“Oi, Harry? I forgot what you looked like! Did you find it? Wait, where is Hermione?” Ron asked, confused.   
  
“We ran into Umbridge, and she made Hermione go down to the interrogations with her. I didn’t find the locket, just a bunch of bloody cat photos.” Harry said shaking his head.   
  
The lift opened again, and Harry and Ron stepped apart looking away from each other as it did. It took a moment for Harry to realise who had stepped on with them.   
  
“Hello Reg,” Mr. Weasley said, then knit his eyebrows together, “Why are you so wet?”   
  
“Uhh, it was raining, in one of the offices. They’ve sent me to get someone to help.” Ron stammered at his father.   
  
Mr. Weasley smirked, “Ahh, yes, shame that’s still going on.” Though it didn’t sound like he thought it was a shame at all. Ron let out a nervous chuckle, nodding at the man. “Did you try _Meteolojinx_ _Recanto_? It worked for Bletchley.”   
  
“ _Meteolojinx_ _Recanto_? No, I’ll uh, I’ll go try that now, err, thanks.”   
  


“Say, isn’t your wife being questioned today Reg?” Mr. Weasley asked.    
  
“Y-y-yes, she is. She’s there now.” Ron said.    
Mr. Weasley put a hand on Ron’s shoulder, shaking his head. “It’s going to be alright, Reg.” He said, comfortingly.    
  
The lift doors opened again, and Ron looked at his dad, managed to stammer, “Thanks, Arthur.” and then darted off.     
  
The lift doors closed again, leaving just Mr. Weasley and Harry together. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but was beaten to it by Mr. Weasley, who had turned to him with a murderous look on his face.    
  
“You lot won’t be getting away with this, Runcorn. You’ll end up in Azkaban, left to rot. You can’t just tear families apart like this.” He growled.    
  
“Mr. — Arthur, you have to be careful. They’re tracking your every move.” Harry said, trying to convey the severity of the situation.    
  
“Is that a threat then, Runcorn? You don’t scare me, and I’m not someone you can just push around.” Mr. Weasley said, his voice stern and scary. He squared his shoulders and walked off the lift as soon as the doors opened, leaving Harry alone again.    
  
The lift began to move down once more, and this time it didn’t stop until it was at level nine. Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak back on before the doors opened with a clang. He was hit with a burst of cold air as he made his way off the lift and down the dimly lit corridor. Harry shivered, but continued ahead, lost in thought. The cold felt like it was seeping into his bones, into his soul, and he couldnt shake the feeling. It was then that Harry realised what that must mean.    
  
Dementors.    
  
The unnatural chill, the fear and doubt sweeping over him. He couldn’t very well cast a  _ Patronus _ here, lest he be spotted, so he continued on ahead, trying his best not to let their effects slow him down. When he rounded the corner, Harry saw them. The dementors were floating in the hallway ahead, cloaked in black billowy robes, their heads and faces covered. There were several witches and wizards— those accused of being Muggleborns he assumes— sitting on benches to the sides, cowering, some even crying. Harry knew he had to get into the interrogation room, but he wasn’t sure how he could do it, without being noticed.    
  
He was near the door, trying to come up with a plan, a distraction of some sort, that would let him in, when the door suddenly opened and a Ministry official stepped out with a clipboard in her hand. 

“Cattermole, Mary,” she called coldly.   
  
A shaking woman stood, making her way toward the door. Harry quickly raced through the door, making it through just before the clipboard official shut it behind her. Harry stood off to the side for a moment, peering around the room. There were dementors floating along the sides, a chair set in the middle, which Mrs. Cattermole was being led to, and in front of that sat Umbridge, Yaxley, and Hermione to Umbridge’s left, looking pale. He silently made his way up the steps toward the group. Several steps up he suddenly felt a warmth seep over him, and the happiness return. Looking around, he saw a small cat _Patronus_ stalking across the front of the Ministry officials. _Umbridge’s, no doubt._   
  
Harry quietly made his way to stand behind Hermione, waiting for an opportunity to let her know he was there. Even viewing her from the back he could tell she was wound tight as thread, and he didn’t want to spook her by tapping her shoulder.   
  
“Mary Cattermole?” Umbridge said, writing something down on her own clipboard.   
  
“Y-y-yes,”   
  
“Wife of Reginald Cattermole, of the Department of Magical Maintenance?”   
  
Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears, shaking. “He’s supposed to be here! I don’t know where he is!”   
  
Umbridge loudly snapped a rude response at the poor woman, and Harry took that opportunity.   
  
“Behind you!” He whispered.   
  
Hermione jumped several inches, nearly knocking her parchment to the floor, but quickly straightened herself and nodded slightly, so Harry knew she understood.   
  
“Mafalda! What is wrong with you!” Umbridge said, huffing at the disaster Hermione apparently was.   
  
“Sorry, Dolores.”   
  
“Keep it together, Mafalda. Hand me Mrs. Cattermole’s questionnaire.” she said, hand held out.   
  
Hermione nervously shuffled papers, looking for the correct set before finding and handing them to Umbridge.   
  
“Now, let’s talk about your wand then, shall we?” Umbridge said, her voice sickly sweet.   
  
“My-my wand?”  
  
“Yes. Who you stole it from, to be more precise.”  
  
“Stole it? No, it chose me when I was eleven! From Mr. Ollivander’s! My parents bought it for me!” Mrs. Cattermole cried, trembling.   
  
“No, I don’t think so.” Umbridge said, shuffling some of the papers in front of her. She leaned forward reaching for a stack of papers in front of her, and by her sharp intake of breath Harry knew Hermione had seen it as well. _The Locket_.

“Dolores, what a lovely necklace,” she said peaking at the piece.    
  
Umbridge fingered the locket, smiling. “Oh this? Old family heirloom actually. The S is for Selwen, one of the  _ many  _ pure-blood families I am related to, you know,” she said, and then more quietly, “It’s a pity, really, fewer options, you see.”    
  
Yaxley chuckled and Umbridge glanced down at the paper now in her hands.    
  
“Yes, Mrs. Cattermole, unfortunately the same cannot be said for you— which is exactly why we’re here,” she muttered disgustedly.    
  
The anger inside of Harry boiled over at her lies and hypocrisy, and before he could stop himself, his wand was out.    
  
“ _ Stupefy _ !” He shouted, a red light emitting from his wand and hitting Umbridge in the chest. She immediately fell forward, papers flying out of her hands.    
  
Before Yaxley could even reach for his wand, Harry shouted “ _ Stupefy!”  _ again, and he too fell back _.  _ _   
_ _   
_ “Sorry, Hermione! I couldn’t just let her sit there lying!” he said, throwing the cloak off of him, and sending one more stunning spell to the clipboard lady.    
  
“It’s fine, Harry. Let’s just get out of here!” Hermione reached to Umbridge’s still body, ripping the locket from her neck and pocketing it before standing up and looking around the room. Grabbing her hand, Harry pulled her down the steps and toward Mrs. Cattermole.    
  
“ _ EXPECTO PATRONUM _ !” Harry yelled. The dementors in the room were blasted away and Harry was able to make it to the woman sitting in the chair.   
  
“Come on, Mrs. Cattermole, we have to get out of here!” Harry said, reaching for her.    
  
“Who are you?” she whimpered, wiping tears from her eyes.    
  


“No time, let’s go!”    


They raced for the door, throwing it open and rushing into the hallway.    
  
“All of you have to get out now!” Harry shouted, ushering the waiting Muggleborns from their seats, and watching the dementors creep in. “Hermione, come on, we are going to need your patronus too!”    
  
“ _ Expecto Patronum _ !” Hermione said, wand shaking.    
  
“Why does this have to be the  _ one _ spell that trips you up? You can do this, Hermione!” Harry looked in her eyes, squeezing her hand.

“ _ EXPECTO PATRONUM _ !” she yelled, and watched as a silvery otter shot out of her wands tip, rushing the incoming dementors.    
  
“ _ EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  _ Harry’s stag joined her otter, and the halls quickly cleared of the dementor presence.    
  
“Alright everyone, we haven’t got long before they realise something is amiss, you have to get out now! Go home, pack your essentials, and get out of town. Go abroad! That’s the, uh, new Official Ministry position.” Harry said, trying to guide everyone to the lift. When it’s doors opened, Mrs. Cattermole shouted in relief.    
  
“Reg! Oh Reg, where were you! We have to get out of here, they— they saved me, and now they say we have to get out of the country!” She fell into Ron’s surprised arms, clinging to him like a lifeline. He awkwardly patted her back, looking at Harry and Hermione.    
  
They were able to pack everyone into the very crowded lift, and as it lurched toward the Atrium Harry and Hermione shared a nervous look. Hermione grabbed his hand, squeezing it, not sure if she was doing it for his comfort or hers.    
  
When the doors opened, they knew they were in trouble. The Atrium was packed with people, frantically running about. The guards were closing off the fireplaces, slamming the grates down with a resounding finality. As they all emerged from the lift, Harry rushed to the front of the crowd, and shouted at the nearest guard, whose wand was up, ready to close the grate.    
  


“WAIT!” he yelled, rushing toward the man. Hermione and Ron were guiding the muggleborns, following after Harry.    
  
“Yaxley? What’s up?” the man said, confused.    
  
“These people have been instructed to leave, so let’s just let them through before you close that one up.” Harry said, gesturing to the group.    
  
“But we’ve been told no one leaves, that we’re to shut—”    
  
“And  _ I’m _ telling you to let these people out!” Harry boomed. The man shrank back from him, nodding his head. Harry gestured the Muggleborns into the fireplace, and watched as they disappeared into the green flames. 

When Harry turned to Mrs. Cattermole, about to send her through the flames, a man’s voice cut through the crowded Atrium, and Harry felt his stomach drop.    
  
“Mary? Mary! There you are! What are you doing?” Reg Cattermole said, rushing toward his wife.    
  
“Reg? What—?” Mrs. Cattermole was still clinging to Ron, who stood wide eyed, looking at the real Reg Cattermole.   
  
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Reg billowed at Ron.    
  
“I, uh, err, you see—” Ron said, prying Mrs. Cattermole’s fingers from his robes.    
  
“CLOSE THE GATES! Close them!!” The booming voice of Yaxley reverberated across the Atrium, stopping people in their tracks.    
  
The guard’s eyes widened, and he quickly raised his wand, intent on shutting the grate. Unfortunately for him, Harry was faster. The last thing the man saw before blacking out was Harry’s balled up fist, sailing into his face.    
  
“Yaxley! He’s been helping the Muggleborns escape!” Harry yelled to Yaxley, who was crossing the Atrium, weeding through crowds of people toward the grate.    
  
Ron took the moment of distraction to grab a still confused Mrs. Cattermole and walked her through the flames. Relieved that they had managed to get all the Muggleborns out, Harry turned to Hermione, reaching for her hand.    
  
“My wife! My wife! Who was that man!? He took my wife!” The real Reg Cattermole yelled, frantically looking around the Atrium.    
  
Harry saw the moment of realisation on Yaxleys face, and was able to pull both him and Hermione toward the ground, narrowly avoiding a spell the wizard sent flying over their heads. As soon as it had struck the wall behind them, Harry stood and pulled Hermione into the green flames of the fireplace.    
  
They spun around a few times before shooting up out of the toilet and into a cubicle. Harry pushed the door open and saw Ron and a still wide-eyed Mrs. Cattermole.    
  
“Reg, Reg! I don’t understand!” she cried, gripping his shirt tightly.    
  
“I’m not your husband! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I’m not Reg!” Ron was peeling her fingers from his clothing, backing away from her.   
  
Harry and Hermione, still holding hands, quickly made their way toward Ron, when they heard a flush from the stall behind them.    
  
“Reg!?”    
  
“Mary! It’s me!” Reg Cattermole cried, rushing toward his wife, who was looking between him and Ron. She suddenly shrieked, jumping away from Ron. When Harry looked back at Ron, it was clear what had caused her panic. Ron’s hair was rapidly turning red again, his facial features beginning to change. Harry looked over at Hermione, and saw her features were also beginning to change back. They were out of time. 

  
There was another splash and Harry heard the cubicle door slam open. Hermione screamed Ron’s name, pulling Harry until she was able to get a grip on both boys. Harry felt the sudden pull of Apparition as his body was squeezed tightly, hand clasped with Hermione’s.    
  
But something was wrong. 

He felt her grip slipping, he was dizzy, nauseous. Something was not right at all. He opened his eyes when he felt Hermione’s grip on him loosen. He caught a quick glimpse of Grimmauld Place, but before he could do anything, he heard a scream followed by a bright purple flash of light. Hermione was suddenly gripping his arm almost painfully, and he was assaulted again by the pressure of Apparition as everything went dark. 

According to the plan, it should have been an in and out mission. According to the plan it should have been fairly easy. According to the plan, they should have stuck together the whole time. According to the plan, Ron should not be laying on the forest floor, bleeding out in agony under her fingertips.    
  
But things don’t always go according to the plan. 

xXxXxXx


	19. It Was Going to be a Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85  
>  **A/N:** Oh my gosh you guys! This story surpassed 200 alert subscriptions this week! That is insane to me! What?! Thank you guys so so much! You are all lovely and wonderful and immensely appreciated! My muse has been a little finicky lately, but I’m hoping things pick back up again! Reading your comments is really quite lovely when I need a little inspiration, so thank you so much for them!   
> Xoxo, L

 

 

**CHAPTER 19**

**It Was Going to Be a Long Night**

The first thing Harry was aware of was that something sharp was trying to dig a hole through his spine. Rolling slightly to his side to ease the pressure, Harry became aware of something else; the crunching of leaves, then the smell of dirt. Opening his eyes he looked around, and for a moment thought they were in the Forbidden Forest. It only took him a glance to realise the trees were too far apart, the scenery too different. They were definitely in a forest, just not  _ that  _ one. He tried to ignore the disappointment he felt.    
  
As he was pushing himself to sit, Harry heard a pained groan from his right. Quickly making his way to his knees, Harry’s stomach sank at the sight before him. Ron was sprawled on the forest floor, Hermione hovering above him, muttering something. Ron’s shirt was soaked in blood, and he wasn’t moving.    
  
“Ron! Ron!” Harry scrambled over to his friends. Hermione was ghosting her shaking hands over Ron’s shoulder and chest— afraid to touch him. She was mumbling something that Harry couldn’t properly hear. Ron’s shoulder was bleeding heavily, and looked as though large chunks had been cut out. “Hermione, what happened? Hermione!” 

“He’s fainted I think. Harry he was splinched!” She said in a panicked voice.   
  
“You have to do something! Hermione! What do we do!?” His frantic shouts finally seemed to break through her shock, as she grabbed up her wand, using it to tear through Ron’s shirt.    
  
“The Dittany, Harry! It’s in my bag!” 

He scrambled over to where Hermione’s beaded bag was lying on the ground, opening it and reaching in. His hands hit several random objects before his brain caught up.    
  
“ _ Accio  _ Dittany!”    
  
Rushing back over to Hermione, Harry uncorked the bottle, placing it in her outstretched hand. He watched as she let three drops fall onto Ron’s still bleeding wounds. Within moments, the bleeding had stopped and the skin was closing up. 

“There are spells that can heal this all the way, but I’m afraid— I’ve never done them before. I don’t want to mess up and make it worse. He’s already lost so much blood, Harry,” she said, her voice shaking.    
  
“It’s alright, Hermione. It’s going to be alright.” Harry put his hand on her thigh, reassuring her. Her pants were splattered with blood, and her hands were dripping. Once he was sure the wound was no longer actively bleeding, Harry looked around again.

“Hermione, where are we? What happened? I thought we were going to Grimmauld Place?” Harry said. 

“We were, but Yaxley grabbed me, just before I Apparated us. He was too strong— I couldn’t shake him off before we got there. And then we were at the steps, and he must have thought we were stopping there, because he relaxed his grip just enough, and I hit him with a Revulsion Jinx. He let me go, but Harry— he was already at the door, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just brought us here.”    
  
“Where is he, then? He’s not— Hermione, no, he’s not at Grimmauld Place, is he? He can’t get in!?”    
  
Hermione was shaking her head sadly, and Harry’s heart sank before she even spoke. 

“We were already on the front steps, Harry. He— he was at the door. I brought him inside the Fidelius— I’m so sorry Harry. I’m so sorry.” Tears were streaming down her face, and she wiped at them with the sleeve of her robes.    
  
“It’s alright, Hermione. It isn’t your fault. If anything, this whole mess is my fault,” Harry said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Mad-Eye’s eye. Hermione visibly recoiled from the object.    
  
“It was in Umbridge’s door. She was using it to spy on people and I couldn’t just leave it there, so I grabbed it. I’m positive that’s how they knew something was wrong— why they were closing the grates.”    
  
Hermione didn’t get a chance to respond because at that moment Ron let out a pained groan and lifted his head slightly.    
  
“Ron!” Hermione said, taking his hand in her own. “How do you feel?”    
  
“Lousy.” He managed, wincing at the pain in his arm. “Where are we?”    
  
“In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup.” said Hermione. “I needed somewhere enclosed, covered, and this was the first place I thought of.”    
  
“Do you think we should move?” Harry asked, looking around.    
  
“I’m not sure—” Hermione glanced down at Ron and made a face, shaking her head. “We should probably stay here for now.”   
  
Harry nodded and Ron sighed in relief. Hermione jumped up and began to walk in a large circle around where they sat, waving her wand and whispering incantations. Harry watched the magic flow around her as she set what he guessed were a series of protective wards, repelling charms and notice-me-nots.    
  
_ “Salvio Hexia… Protego Totalum… Repello Muggletum… Muffliato…  _ Harry why don’t you set up the tent.” she said looking over her shoulder at him.    
  
“You have a— of course you have a tent.” Harry said, shaking his head and opening the beaded bag again. Having learned from his previous attempt, Harry just pointed his wand into the bag, and said “Accio tent.”. A large canvas tent bag shot out, giving Harry just enough room to duck before it landed with a clatter next to him.    
  


“You really are brilliant, you know that Hermione?” Harry said as he began unzipping the tent bag and pulling poles out. His brows furrowed together when he realised there were no instructions. He had one medium looking L-shaped pole in his hand, and was just bending over to search the bag for its mate when he heard Hermione sigh, and chuckle slightly.    
  
“Harry, put that down before you hurt yourself.”    
  
“There are no instructions.” Harry said, as if in explanation of his awkward pole holding.    
  
_ “Erecto.”  _ Hermione pointed her wand at the parts and made a slight flourish with her wand. Harry felt dumb— which wasn’t all that uncommon, but in this case, it really was quite dull of him.    
  
“Way to make a bloke feel inadequate, Hermione.” he said chuckling, as the pole he was holding flew out of his grip and snapped into place.    
  
“Honestly Harry, it’s like you forget you’re a wizard sometimes.” she said, shaking her head and walking back toward where Ron was lying.     
  
“Six years I’ve known him. Six years— and he makes his bed every morning. The  _ Muggle _ way.” Ron said. His laugh was cut short by a shudder and wince of pain.    
  
“Right, let’s get you inside.” Hermione crouched down next to Ron, gingerly helping him to his feet.    
  
They half carried, half dragged Ron through the tent entrance, and Hermione quickly cleared a spot for him on the bed before Harry helped him settle on it. The walk had been short, but even so, Ron somehow looked paler than before. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and it was only a moment before Harry was sure he was asleep.    
  
“I guess I’ll make tea, then?” Hermione asked, already standing in the tiny kitchen.    
  
“That sounds great.” Harry looked around the tent. “Isn’t this the same tent—” 

  
“Yes, Perkins’, from the World Cup. I, uh,  _ borrowed _ it for a bit.” Harry could see the guilt on her face, and he smiled to himself, wondering how long she would tell herself it was just  _ borrowed. _

She sat at the table, pushing one of the cups she had made over to him. Harry held the little mug with both hands, letting the warmth seep into him. They remained quiet for a time, each sipping their tea and lost alone in their thoughts.    
  
Eventually, Hermione sighed loudly, rousing Harry from his own mind. He looked over at his best friend— friends, and suddenly felt very grateful. He had managed to find two people in this world who he trusted implicitly, and apparently they felt the same. They had followed him so many places— dangerous places. More often than not, someone ended up in danger or hurt. Or in trouble. Almost always in some kind of trouble. But here they were, sticking with him. 

Harry opened his mouth to ask Hermione something, but quickly forgot about it entirely, when he noticed a small golden chain just visible from under her robes.    
  
“Hermione! The locket! I almost forgot!” he said excitedly, pointing to the chain at her neck. He was slightly confused when she reached into her robe pocket, but when she pulled out the locket, he forgot all about his confusion.    
  


“You got it!? No one tells me anything! Blimey you could have mentioned it!” Ron said, sitting up and watching as Hermione held out the locket.   
  
“Oh, right, sorry Ron. I forgot to mention it for some reason… Oh! Right, we were running for our lives, from  _ Death Eaters! _ ” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Ron while holding the locket out toward Harry. He carefully took it in his hand, examining it. 

It was ornately carved with wispy engravings, and a large ‘S’ in the center. Harry couldn’t help but feel disgusted at the thing. It held a piece of Voldemort’s  _ soul _ , and it was a foul thing to behold when you knew that; he could feel the dark magic seeping out of the metal. Trying to pry it open with his hands proved useless, so Harry pulled out his wand and tried a few spells on it, but nothing would open the piece. He handed it over to Ron, who looked it over quietly before shrugging and pulling his own wand out. When he couldn’t open it either, he handed it back to Hermione, and wiped his hands on his pants.    
  
“It feels dark. It made me— I didn’t like it.” he said, shaking his head.    
  
“If you two weren’t able to open this, I doubt I’ll have success either.” Hermione said, as she tapped the locket and murmured incantation after incantation trying to unlock it. After several minutes she set it on the table in front of her, shaking her head. “What do we do?” she asked.    
  
“I suppose all we can do is keep it safe until we can figure out how to open it.” Harry said, reaching to take the locket and slide it over his head. He tucked it under his shirt, and shivered at the contact. It felt wrong, wearing it. “Hermione, did you grab the Sneakoscope you gave me?” 

“Oh! Yes, it’s uh—” she reached into her beaded bag and dug around a little, “right here!” Pulling the little object out she handed it over to Harry, who set it on the table, and stood from his chair. “I think we need to keep a watch. Not that I don’t trust your spell work, but—”    
  
“I completely agree Harry. Plus, we can switch off wearing that locket. I don’t think anyone should wear it for too long.” Hermione said, nodding her head. She looked over at Ron, who apparently had fallen asleep again. “He needs to heal before he wears it.” 

Harry nodded his head in agreement, and walked around the table, stopping next to Hermione to reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “Four hours?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in question. He nodded, offering a small smile before leaving the tent to stand watch.    
  
  


xXxXxXx

Hermione had first read, then napped until Harry’s four hour shift had ended, and she took the necklace from him. She sat outside, staring off into the trees for a time before summoning her book and continuing to read. She was relieved when Harry came out to switch again, and wondered to herself how long Ron would need to rest before taking on a watch of his own. Every other four hours was going to get tiresome quite fast. She made her way into the tent, and sighed. Kneeling down at Ron’s side, she took his hand into her own, and brushed the hair away from his eyes. A tear was sliding down her cheek and guilt was eating her up. She sniffled and wiped her eye, just as she felt a squeeze of her hand.    
  
“What’s the matter, Hermione?” Ron said, turning his head to look at her. 

“I’m sorry Ron. I’m so sorry.”    
  
“Hermione, this isn’t your fault, you didn’t mean for this to happen.” he squeezed her hand again.    
  
“But—”

“No. Hermione if you hadn’t Apparated us away, what do you suppose would have happened? Yaxley would have gotten us, and then where would we be? Stop blaming yourself when your action saved us.” Ron said, his voice ringing with finality.    
  
Hermione nodded her head, and the two sat in a companionable silence for a moment, before Ron’s grumbling stomach cut through the silence.    
“Don’t suppose you packed food, did you?” he asked hopefully.    
  
“I thought we would be back at Grimmauld Place…” she trailed off, feeling guilty again.  _ How had she forgotten food?! She packed the toothbrushes for Merlin’s sake, and forgot the food? _ Deciding that mentally berating herself wouldn’t help the situation, she stood from the bed and walked toward the door, looking over her shoulder at Ron when she got to the opening. “I’ll see what I can find.”    
  
She was back in the tent less than ten minutes later, having found nothing more than some wild mushrooms. She took out the little food that was left in her bag from the first time she packed it— one can of soup and two pieces of magically preserved bread— and set them on the table with the mushrooms. Pulling out three bowls she divided each bit of food, and brought a bowl and bread over to Ron.    
  
“Thanks, ‘Mione.” he said, taking it from her. Hermione went back to the table, eating her own portions before sending her bowl to the sink and standing again.    
  
“I’m going to take some out to Harry.” she said, gathering his portion of food and exiting the tent.    
  
She found Harry sitting with his back to one of the larger trees near the tent entrance. He smiled when she approached, and gratefully took the bowl and bread from her.    
  
“There are also some mushrooms on the table… but they’re rather disgusting.” Hermione said, unable to stifle the laugh that bubbled up.    
  
“This is perfect, thanks Hermione.” 

They sat quietly while Harry ate, and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what they were going to do. Stuck in the forest with a tent and a Horcrux, and no clue where to go next. She sighed, and Harry looked up at her, placing his empty bowl on the ground to his left.    
  
“What are we going to do now?” Harry asked, clearly thinking the same thing.    
  
“I’m not sure,” Hermione said truthfully.    
  
“We don’t know where the other Horcruxes are or how to find them. We don’t even know how to destroy the one we have. This is a mess, and we can’t do anything about it. This is a fool’s errand, Hermione. Because of some sack of Slytherin prophecy!  _ ‘Neither can live while the other survives.’ _ You two can bloody leave any time you want, but I can’t! I can’t walk away from this. It was stupid to think we could manage this when Dumbledore didn’t even leave us any instructions!” Harry said angrily.    
  
“Harry James Potter, if you think I can walk away from this— from you— then you’ve gone and lost the plot. There is no way I could leave you. We are in this together, whether you like it or not!” she huffed, crossing her arms.    
  
Harry slouched a bit against the tree, putting his head in his hands and pulling them down his face. “You’re right, Hermione, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m feeling so—” he tipped his head back and brought his hands up in front of him, shaking them, “Ugh! I don’t know what I’m feeling! I’m so frustrated, Hermione!”    
  
“I know, Harry, I know. But you know I’d never leave you. I’m sitting in a forest with nothing more than a tent and mushrooms, and I still have no plans to leave. It’s not happening “ she said, reassuring her best friend. He wasn’t usually so… dejected and hopeless.  _ Wonder what that’s about?  _ Hermione leaned over, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder and the two sat quietly again   
  
“You’d better go in a get some rest, Hermione. It wouldn’t do us any good if you fell asleep on your watch.” Harry said quietly, clearly wanting some alone time.    
  
“Alright, I’ll be back out soon. Stop thinking like that, Harry. It doesn’t do anyone any good.” She stood and brushed the dirt from her clothes.     
  
She made her way back into the tent, quietly walking to the bed that was farthest from a sleeping— and snoring— Ron. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out a pair of shorts and Harry’s jersey. It wasn’t that she had a thing for this particular jersey, it just happened to be the only comfortable sleeping shirt she packed.    
  
Crawling down between the covers, Hermione found she really was exhausted after the day they’d had. It was only around seven in the evening, but she was knackered. Groaning when she realised she would have to be up in less than three hours to switch off with Harry, she set an alarm on her wand, shoving it under her pillow, and closed her eyes for sleep. 

xXxXxXx

Hermione startled awake at the buzzing of her wand from under her pillow. Grabbing the offending wood, she quickly shut the alarm off and rubbed at her eyes. She slowly sat up and kicked her feet over the edge of the bed, thankful that it wasn’t one of the colder months. Grabbing one of the blankets from the bed and throwing it around her shoulders, she headed out of the tent to relieve Harry.    
  
She found him almost unmoved from when she left three hours earlier, sitting against the tree. He watched her as she approached, smiling softly at her.    
  
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.    
  
“A little, though somehow I’m more tired now than I was before.” she said. 

“I reckon it won’t be so bad once Ron is able to do some, too.”   
  
“Yeah.” Hermione agreed. She sat down next to Harry, wrapping the blanket tightly around her shoulders. There was only a moment of silence between the two before Harry spoke again, pushing himself off the ground.    
  
“Sorry, Hermione, but I need sleep.” he said with a guilty expression, handing her the locket.    
  
“Go, Harry, don’t be sorry! Get some rest.” She smiled up at him, and watched him turn from her and head to the tent.    
  
Once she was alone, Hermione sighed. This was going to be a long night. A long— well, several days and nights. Until Ron was healthy enough to take one of the watches, sleep would come in four hour increments for her and Harry.

Relaxing back against the tree, Hermione looked up into the night’s sky. The trees were just sparse enough that she could see a patch of stars, and as she gazed up at them, she let her mind wander. She thought about her parents, and what they were doing now. She thought about the rest of the Order, and about Hogwarts. She should be doing homework right now— pestering Ron and Harry to do theirs, too— not sitting hungry and scared in a forest with no plan. 

She thought about Draco, realised that he would be back at Hogwarts now. That thought at least, made her smile. He was out of immediate danger, and mostly safe behind the walls of the school. With Death Eaters as staff there would still be challenges for many of the students, but being a Death Eater himself, Draco was safe from them. She wondered if he ever went back to the Room of Requirement, and briefly wished that she were at Hogwarts rather than here. She knew they would have started up their meetings again, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she truly enjoyed his company— maybe more than that even…  _ Not the time, Hermione! _ She scolded herself, shaking her head to clear the rampant thoughts. 

Just as she lifted her wand to cast a  _ Tempus _ , she felt the familiar warming sensation on her chest where the little coin lay. Pulling it out she tapped its surface and smiled watching the message appeared, before replying straight away.   
  


 

_ Hi yourself.  _

_ I’ve noticed you’re a little tardy for the train.  _ __   
__   
_ Decided camping sounded more fun.  _ __   


_ What?  _

_ We were at Grimmauld Place, but the Fidelius was compromised.  _ __   
_   
_ __ So now you’re camping? 

_ Yes. We’re safe for now. Harry and I are trading off being lookout.  _

__   
_ What happened to Weasel? _ __   
__   
_ Splinched when we were almost caught. He’s recovering.  _ __   
  


__   
After their quick back and forth messages, Hermione was impatient when it was a moment before his response came.   
  
  


_ I’m glad it wasn’t you.  _   
  
  
She couldn’t help smiling at that, even though she still felt incredibly guilty that her action had hurt Ron so badly. She felt those familiar butterflies in her stomach, but she was determined to ignore them. There was nothing she could do about whatever it was she was feeling for him, so it seemed easier to just ignore it.    
  
  
_ And I’m glad you’re safe at Hogwarts. Get some sleep, Draco.  _ __   
__   
_ Goodnight, Hermione.  _ __   
__   
  


Sighing deeply, Hermione put the coin back under her shirt, and hugged her knees into her chest. She needed to come up with a plan, which meant she needed to stop dwelling on her crush and start formulating.    
  
Groaning, she let her head fall to rest on her knees. She had just admitted to having a crush on  _ Draco Malfoy _ . It may have only been in her mind, but still—  _ What the bloody hell is wrong with you Hermione!? _ It was going to be a long watch, she thought, shaking her head.    
  
  


xXxXxXx


	20. Horribly Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85

 

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**Horribly Wrong**

_ “Give it to me, Gregorovitch.”   _

_ Harry’s voice was high, clear, and cold, his wand held in front of him by a long-fingered white hand. The man at whom he was pointing was suspended upside down in midair, though there were no ropes holding him; he swung there, invisibly and eerily bound, his limbs wrapped about him, his terrified face, on a level with Harry’s, ruddy due to the blood that had rushed to his head. He had pure-white hair and a thick, bushy beard: a trussed-up Father Christmas. _

_ “I have it not, I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!” _

_ “Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch. He knows. . . . He always knows.”   _

_ The hanging man’s pupils were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell, bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed Harry whole –   _

_ And now Harry was hurrying along a dark corridor in stout little Gregorovitch’s wake as he held a lantern aloft: Gregorovitch burst into the room at the end of the passage and his lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop; wood shavings and gold gleamed in the swinging pool of light, and there on the window ledge sat perched, like a giant bird, a young man with golden hair. In the split second that the lantern’s light illuminated him, Harry saw the delight upon his handsome face, then the intruder shot a Stunning Spell from his wand and jumped neatly backward out of the window with a crow of laughter.   _

_ Harry was hurtling back out of those wide, tunnel-like pupils, and Gregorovitch’s face was stricken with terror.   _

_ “Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?” said the high cold voice.   _

_ “I do not know, I never knew. A young man – no – please – PLEASE!”  A scream that went on and on and then a burst of green light – _

Harry awoke with a start, sweaty and breathing hard. He quickly looked around, realising he must have fallen asleep on his watch. Light was just beginning to appear, so it must have been close to the end of his four hours. He cast a quick  _ Tempus _ and sure enough, it was 5:45 am. Groaning, Harry pushed himself to stand stretching his sore muscles and dusting the dirt from his legs and bum. He looked around making sure nothing seemed amiss, and when he was satisfied that his nap had gone entirely unnoticed, he made his way into the tent.    
  
Hermione was sitting at the table, eyes glazed over and holding a cuppa. She didn’t even notice when he walked in. Harry stood still for a moment, watching as she absentmindedly fingered a small coin hanging on a chain around her neck. He remembered seeing the chain the day before and thinking it was the locket, but when she pulled out the  _ real _ locket, he had forgotten all about  _ that  _ chain. Now he was curious again, as he couldn’t remember seeing it before, and Hermione wasn’t one to wear jewellery.    
  
Harry cleared his throat, and watched as Hermione jumped, sploshing a little tea and hastily hiding away her necklace. She stood from the table, looking like she got caught with her hand in the biscuit tin, and walked over to the little kitchen to grab a second mug. She fixed a tea, handing it to Harry, who accepted it with a smile.    
  
“Thanks, Hermione,” he said, taking a sip. He watched as she sat back down and brought her own cup to her lips before he spoke again. “What’s that necklace you’ve got on? I’ve not seen it before.”    
  
She looked up at him, eyes slightly wider than normal, a rabbit caught in headlights.  He watched as she put an explanation together in her head and the sight made him smirk— she could never get by in Slytherin. He waited patiently for her to speak, sipping his tea as he did.    
  
“It’s actually a Galleon.” she finally said as she pulled it out to show him. “It was the first one I ever laid eyes on.” She smiled wistfully. “Professor McGonagall gave it to me the first time we met— she was explaining some of the wizarding world to my parents and me, and when they asked about money she pulled this out and said I could keep it.”    
  
“I’ve never seen it before, though. Why are you wearing it?” he asked. Her answer sounded genuine, but something still felt off.    
  
“I always kept it in my trunk when we were at school; it was my first tangible piece of the wizarding world. When I realised we wouldn’t be making it back this year, I put it on a little chain, to remind myself what we’re fighting for.” she paused, clutching the coin in her fist, and Harry could see the pain in her eyes. “So that kids like me get to be a part of this world.” 

Well, now he felt like a prick for doubting her. He didn’t know what to say so instead he pursed his lips and nodded his head, before reaching out and squeezing her hand within his own. He glanced over his shoulder when a rustling came from the bed as Ron woke up— entirely missing the guilty look on Hermione’s face.

  
Ron groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes before looking at the pair of them. “Breakfast?” he asked, hopeful.    
  
“Tea.” they replied in unison.    
  
He groaned and fell back onto his pillows, pulling the blanket over his eyes.    
  
  


xXxXxXx

Hermione was rubbing her temples and doing everything in her considerable power  _ not _ to go off on Harry right now. He had just finished explaining to her and Ron his dream about Gregorovitch, and his theory that Voldemort was possibly looking to make  _ more _ Horcruxes. The theory itself was stressful enough but what was really concerning her was that Harry had allowed him into his mind,  _ again.  _

“Harry,” she sighed, “I know you were sleeping, but you  _ have _ to work harder to keep him out! If you can see him, what’s to say he can't see you? It’s dangerous.”    
  
“Blimey Hermione, I know that! I didn’t let him in on purpose! I was SLEEPING!”    
  
“Alright alright alright! I know, I just had to say it,” she said, standing and pacing. They were outside the tent, and each had a small pile of disgusting mushrooms they were nibbling on. It was quiet between them for a few minutes before Hermione spoke again. “I think we should probably move on. We shouldn’t stay in one spot for too long— plus we are going to starve out here.”    
  
“Thank bloody Merlin!” Ron said as he gingerly pushed himself to stand with one arm. He was doing much better today, just sore and a little weak after the blood loss.    
  
Hermione pointed her wand at the tent, only watching for a moment as it came down and folded itself. She turned to Harry and Ron, instructing them to obliterate any marks on the ground indicating they had stayed here. Once they were set to the task, Hermione walked around the perimeter she had made, taking down the charms and spells that were keeping them hidden.    
  
She took one last glance around, ensuring everything was packed back into her beaded bag, and that there was no trace they had been here. She held a hand out to each Ron, and Harry, and closed her eyes.  _ Destination, Determination, Deliberation. _ __  
  


xXxXxXx   
  
  


**December 24, 1997** ****  
**  
** It had been months. They were tired, they were hungry, they were homesick, and they were no closer to finding the next damn Horcrux than when they started. It had been just Hermione and Harry for a while now; almost three months since Ron left, and neither of them was over it yet. 

After he left, it was bad. Harry hadn’t spoken a word for two whole days. Hermione was so nauseous that she didn’t eat. Both of them slept restlessly, and neither could fall asleep at all if the other wasn’t in the bed. On the third morning that he’d been gone, Harry had rolled over in the bed to face Hermione, looked her in the eye and held up his hand.    
  
“You and me?” he had asked, unsure.    
  
“Always,” Hermione said, grabbing his hand and squeezing tightly.    
  
They had packed up after that, Hermione undoing wards and spells, Harry gathering the tent and obliterating any trace of their presence. When it was as if no one had been there at all, Harry and Hermione had taken each other’s hand, and with tears in her eyes, Hermione Apparated them away.  

They hadn’t been in one place more than a couple of days since then. The weather was cooling off, and the food was scarce. When it was possible, they would go into a small nearby town and get what food they could, but it was never enough. They couldn’t risk being seen or caught, so they went without often and had both lost quite a bit of weight, though that could have also been attributed to the stress.    
  


Hermione wanted to laugh at the sight of Harry wolfing down the mushrooms they’d found— the same mushrooms they had thought so unpalatable on their first day on the run— however, the fact that they hadn’t eaten at all yesterday, and the knowledge that this may be the only thing they ate today kept that laughter at bay.    
  
Finishing off the last of her own portion, Hermione stood from the table and walked to the little sink to brush her teeth. They may be hungry, dirty, and alone, but oral hygiene had been drummed into her brain from infancy, and the daily ritual brought her some semblance of routine and it relaxed her. After a moment, Harry joined, and they brushed their teeth together, as they did most nights. 

Having long ago lost any modesty, Hermione walked to the bed and changed into her pyjamas, before crawling into the blankets. Harry joined her a minute later, stretching his arm out so she could cuddle into his side.    
  
“So, tomorrow?” he asked.    
  
“Yeah,” she answered, turning her head to look at him.    
  
“You think we’re gonna find it?”    
  
“I don’t know. I don’t know where else it could be, but this also feels like a long shot.” Hermione said. When they learned that the sword of Gryffindor was what Dumbledore used to destroy the ring Horcrux, they focused their efforts on finding it. However, finding the missing sword was like finding a needle in a haystack. Godric’s Hollow seemed like their best bet at this point, but it was still just a guess. They had arrived that afternoon, and set up the wards and tent, but agreed to wait until tomorrow to venture into the town. 

Harry was silent for a minute before speaking again. “Hermione, will you— I want to see my parents. Their graves. Will you come with me?”    
  
Hermione reached her hand up to cup Harry’s face, stroking her thumb along his cheek. “Of course I will Harry.” She smiled at him before rolling over and letting Harry pull her close to his chest. It was the same thing every night now. They would get ready for bed, lie next to each other, pretend everything was fine, fall asleep, and do it all again the next day. Or at least that’s how  _ Harry  _ thought it happened. He didn’t know she waited for him to fall asleep every night so that she could send messages to Draco.    
  
They had given up the watches about two weeks after Ron had left. They just couldn’t keep up with the four-hour shifts, especially since neither could sleep a wink without the other there in bed. Harry had argued that if they were found and attacked, they would stand a better chance fighting if they were rested; so instead, they just traded the locket several times a day, and got what sleep they could.   
  
Hermione closed her eyes in the darkness, thinking about the last few months. She hated herself for the thought, but she really was glad that it was her and Harry, not her and Ron. Harry was like her other half, and she needed him in ways she didn’t even fully comprehend. He understood her without her having to say anything. He took care of her in ways that she didn’t think anyone else was capable of. Hermione had a brief pang of worry about what she would do if— when,  _ when _ they won the war, and Harry went back to Ginny. She would be alone. Quickly pushing that thought aside, Hermione cleared her mind and waited. Eventually, Harry’s breathing slowed, evened out; his grip on her loosened. Once she was sure he was asleep, Hermione wiggled out of his grasp and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. She slipped her shoes on and walked to the door of the tent before lighting her  _ Lumos _ . Once she was outside, she would sit on the ground, and wait for Draco’s message. Tonight was no different.    
  
It was cold here. As she sat outside, she absently wondered if it would snow. Hopefully not, because it was hard enough to stay warm as it was, they didn’t need snow to top it off. The Galleon was in her hands when it warmed up. Hermione pulled her arms from inside the blanket and tapped the coin, reading the message.    
  


  
_ Someone spotted you yesterday. You need to be more careful.  _ __  
__  
_ We’ve already moved on. Thank you.  _ __  
__  
_ Good. I worry about you. Luckily snatchers are idiots.  _ __  
  


__  
Hermione smiled at that. They had been ‘speaking’ every night for months now, but he still gave her butterflies. She tried to ignore them because she’d be kidding herself if she thought there was any chance he felt anything other than friendship toward her. He was  __ Draco Malfoy. Even if you put all of his fake blood purity beliefs aside, there was still so much separating them.    
  
  


_ I’m fine, I promise. We haven’t been caught yet, and don’t plan on it.  _ __  
__  
_ Hermione, I’m serious. He is doubling the efforts. He wants you caught.  _ __  
_  
_ __ We will be fine Draco. You have enough to worry about, don’t add me to your list. 

_ You’ve been on my list since you left Hogwarts, Hermione.  _ __  
__  
__  
Oh. Well, that was certainly unexpected. It made her almost deliriously happy for him to say he worried, but she didn’t want to add to his considerable list of things to worry about. For a brief moment, Hermione wondered what would have happened if she had been raised by Rodolphus. There would have been nothing stopping her and Draco from seeing each other, from— no. She shook her head and stood up. That was a ridiculous thing to think about. She felt disgusted that she had even thought such a thing. Being raised by Rodolphus would have been awful, and she shouldn't even be considering it, even in the privacy of her own mind. Disgusting.    
  
She walked back to the tent, slipping into bed next to Harry. Tomorrow was going to be a hard day for him— visiting his parents grave for the first time. Being in the town where they died, and where it all started for him. And then he had to keep it together enough to go see Bathilda Bagshot and try and find the sword. Hermione cuddled into Harry as she tried to soak in his warmth, and closed her eyes willing sleep to take her.    
  


xXxXxXx

“I’m not going to my parents grave invisible, Hermione!” Harry said, crossing his arms.    
  
“I just don’t think it’s the safest thing, going out in the open like that Harry. What if someone sees us?” Hermione said, trying to reason with him. “I understand, I really do Harry, but is it really worth the risk of getting caught?”    
  
“You don’t understand, Hermione. How could you? You’ve never lost your parents, you don’t know what it’s like. I have to do this, I have to go as me, visible. I’m not changing my mind, so if you want to stay here that’s fine, but I’m going.” Harry was standing now, his back facing her.    
  
Hermione sighed. It had been five months since she’d seen her parents and— and hid them. She didn’t think about it often, by sheer force of will. If she did, it would likely eat her alive. She also hadn’t told Harry. It just got harder and harder to bring up the longer she waited, and eventually, Hermione just felt like there was no point in telling him at all. It would just upset him, he’d blame himself, and she would end up crying. Neither of them needed any of that, so she kept her mouth shut.    
  
“You’re not going alone, Harry, I’m coming with you.”    
  
“No cloak.” He said.    
  
Sighing, Hermione answered. “No cloak. Fine. Ready?” 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

Harry turned to Hermione, and she held her hand out to him. She was expecting him to take her hand, as usual, so they could Apparate away. So it surprised her when instead he pulled her into a crushing hug, wrapping his arms around her body, and resting his cheek on top of her head.    
  
“You mean so much to me, Hermione, you know that right?” His voice shook with emotion.    
  
“I know, Harry. I know.” She said, squeezing her arms around his middle.    
  
“You— you’re family. I love you, Hermione.” Harry said, kissing the top of her head.    
  
“I love you, too, Harry.”    
  
They stayed like that for a moment, before Harry let her go, taking her hand. He looked her in the eye and nodded his head once. Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes, the familiar darkness of Apparation squeezing briefly, before spitting them out on a cobbled road in Godric’s Hollow.    
  
Hermione looked around, taking in their surroundings. It was late morning, but the street was empty, though it looked to be the main road through the town. Little shops were lining either side of the street, their windows decorated in wreaths and boughs. Most of the doors were tied up with a bow, and you could even see a Christmas tree through some of the windows. That was odd, was it really that far into December?    
  
Hermione had tried to keep track of the days at first, but the longer they were gone, the harder it became. And after Ron left— well, they didn’t keep track after that. Hermione let go of Harry’s hand, walking over to one of the shop windows. The sign said they were closed for Christmas, but open every other day.    
  
“Harry, I think it’s Christmas.” 

Harry looked at her then and smiled. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”    
  
“Happy Christmas, Harry.” She smiled back, walking to stand by him again, and taking his hand. Hermione looked around again, searching for a sign to find the graveyard. They only had to walk a block before it was obvious. The little road to their left led to a very unmistakable graveyard, so they turned and headed toward it.    
  
Harry stopped when he got to the little archway denoting the entrance to the graveyard. It was an old stone archway with pieces crumbling from time and weather. Harry put one hand out, running it down the stones, and Hermione saw him take a deep breath, before pulling his hand back and walking forward, determined. She followed him in and looked around. It wasn’t hard to guess which graves belonged to Lily and James Potter. There were two stones, set next to each other, and clearly kept up better than any others in the vicinity. There was just something about those two headstones that drew you in, and Hermione knew Harry felt it too. He was already walking toward them, so she followed along, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, her wand gripped tightly in her hand.    
  
Harry dropped to his knees in front of her, and Hermione decided to wait back, giving him a minute alone. She could hear him talking and wanted to give him as much privacy as possible, so she turned and walked away, leaving him with his parents.    
  
Looking back, Hermione would question why she ever decided to leave his side. She hadn’t left his side in four months, why did she decide to do it then? It was that moment, turning from Harry, walking away from him, where everything went wrong. 

xXxXxXx

Hermione was standing next to a grave that had once been marked, but was so old and worn that the name had all but disappeared. She was absently wondering why wizards wouldn’t put some sort of preserving charm on gravestones when she felt the coin at her neck warm. Startled, she quickly glanced at Harry, who was still kneeling next to his parents. Hermione turned her back to him and pulled the coin from her neck, tapping it with her wand. She was relieved beyond belief when she read the message. Draco didn’t send messages in the daytime, so she had been worried when she felt it warm. 

_ Happy Christmas, Hermione.  _ __  
__  
  


Smiling to herself, she tapped the coin, sending him a quick reply.    
  
  
_ Happy Christmas, Draco.  _ __  
__  
__  
Hermione was so distracted by his message that she didn’t hear Harry’s first warning shout.    
  
“HERMIONE!” he screamed, bringing her back to the present moment. She looked up startled and saw Harry running toward her, wand out and a look of terror on his face.    
  
“DUCK!” It was good they were so attuned and trusted each other implicitly, because he didn’t even wait for her to duck before yelling, “ __ Stupefy!” 

Her body slammed into the ground and she rolled over, throwing up a protection charm just in case. A body fell to her left, and she rolled to her knees away from it, pushing herself to stand. Harry was next to her now, and he was still throwing spells. Hermione saw three— no four, four Death Eaters advancing on them.    
  
“Oh!” one of them squealed gleefully, and if Hermione hadn’t been terrified before, she was now. She would recognise that voice anywhere.

Bellatrix.    
  
“Look what we have here! Little Harry Potter, visiting his dead parents for Christmas, how lovely! And  _ you—  _ _ Crucio!”  _  She had her wand pointed at Hermione, but Harry shoved her out of the way just in time for the spell to zoom between their bodies, missing.    
  
“ _ Stupefy! Expelliarmus!”  _ Harry shot back at her. She dodged them both, laughing maniacally.    
  
_ “Petrificus Totalus!”  _ Hermione shouted, scrambling to her feet. She hit one of the Death Eaters behind Bellatrix, sending him to the ground.

Bellatrix was advancing on them, and every spell they threw at her she countered, dodged, or otherwise avoided. Nothing was hitting her. She laughed as each spell missed her until Hermione threw one that only narrowly missed her body, singing her black skirts instead. Bellatrix stopped, a look of pure hatred crossing her face. She aimed her wand at Hermione, and spoke, furious loathing dripping in her words.    
  
“You, dirty little bitch, have just crossed a line!” she screamed. “What would your father say, if he knew you tried to hurt me? You mean nothing to him! Nothing!  _ I  _ am the one he chose to keep,  _ you  _ are just an accident that he made disappear!” Her wand was shaking as she advanced on them.    
  
“Hermione, what is she—” Harry’s question was cut off as he narrowly avoided a killing curse from one of the other remaining Death Eaters.    
  
“The Dark Lord wants them alive you fool!” Bellatrix screamed, her rage palpable. “ _ Crucio!”  _ she pointed her wand at Hermione, and this time she met her target. Hermione fell to the ground, screaming as agonising pain ripped across her body. It felt like there was fire in her veins, and she was sure her bones were going to break. Her vision was speckled, and Hermione could hear nothing except her own screams. Her body was writhing, and she had absolutely no control over it. She couldn’t think past the pain. Just as she was sure she was going to pass out, it stopped.

When Bellatrix finally released her from the curse, Hermione was panting, tears streaming down her face. Her whole body was still reverberating with subsiding agony, but she was now able to at least think more clearly. She looked up just in time to see Bellatrix jump to the right, dodging the curse Harry intended for her, hitting the man behind her instead. She threw her head back, cackling before sending another curse at Harry. Hermione could hardly focus on the scene around her, her body still recovering from the pain. 

“ _ Sectumsempra!” _ Harry shouted, hitting the remaining Death Eater, leaving just Bellatrix, who was still insanely laughing, enjoying the duel.    
  
“Harry!” Hermione rasped, reaching out to him.    
  
“Hermione, come on, you have to get up! We have to go!” He screamed, between dodging Bellatrix’s curses and sending his own her way.    
  
Pushing herself up to her knees, Hermione did her best to fight through the pain. It wasn't easy, her whole body felt like it had been run over; as if she had bruises on every surface. Her muscles were weak, and her limbs shaking. She got to her feet and began to move as quickly as she could toward Harry.    
  
He was firing curses at Bellatrix, but he was able to reach out to her. When their hands met, Hermione knew it was going to be alright. They were going to make it out of here. 

“Harry, you have to Apparate. I don’t— Ahhh!” Hermione cried out as she fell to her knees, her back searing in pain. She felt a warm wetness begin to seep from what felt like a deep slice between her shoulders. Screaming out in agony, Hermione fell back onto her knees, unable to stand.  

“Hermione!” Harry screamed, throwing another stunning spell at Bellatrix. 

Reaching up to take Harry’s hand again, Hermione focused everything she had on not passing out from the pain. “Destination, determination, deliberation,” she spoke the words as clearly she could, but her voice was shaking. Harry nodded his head at her, grasping her hand again. He wasn’t going to try and make her stand, and that was good because she didn’t think she could at this point. Hermione watched as Harry threw one last curse at Bellatrix, before squeezing his eyes, concentrating.    
  
She felt the crushing pressure of Apparition as it pushed in on her body, and it was agonising, enhancing the debilitating pain that was already tormenting her body, and she knew she was going to pass out. But they were going to be alright. They were going to get away. They’d get away, and Harry was okay. Harry was okay, and they would be fine. She’d be fine.      
  
The last thing Hermione was aware of before she was passed out was a sharp tug on her foot and Harry screaming her name as their hands slipped apart. 

  
As she plunged into darkness, she knew something had gone horribly wrong. 

xXxXxXx   
  
  
  


**A/N:** Some of you may have noticed I took a liberty with the timeline here - Ron left early October. 


	21. It's Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** First off, I'm almost sorry about that cliff hanger last chapter… almost. Second, this story has over 100 favorites now! I'm completely blown away by that. Thank you all so much, all your comments and kudos and favorites are so so encouraging! Last but certainly not least…. Who is ready for a tiny taste of Draco?! Oh? Yeah, me too. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Gentle reminder, this is still a slow burn. Love to you all!!! Xoxo, L_

**PART TWO**   
**-Into the Deep-**

* * *

****  
  
  
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

**IT’S OVER**

 

_Ouch._

 

Her body wasn’t on fire anymore, but she was aching. Her head was on the verge of exploding, every throb sent shockwaves through her system. Her eyes wouldn’t open so she stopped trying. She let everything fade back to black.

  


xXxXxXx

  


Her eyes opened, but her vision was fuzzy, clouded. The heavy scent of iron was overpowering, and she could hear something in the distance, but her ears were ringing and the pain in her body was too overwhelming for her to focus on anything else. She let her eyelids close and once more allowed the darkness to overtake her.  

  


xXxXxXx

  


When she came above the surface again she recognised the smell; it was still intense, and masking any other smells she may have identified, but this one— the iron— was now obvious. Blood. Hermione supposed that she must not be dying then, since she was becoming more aware each time she came out of the haze. Her body was still in pain, each breath agonising, but she was able to distinguish the pains now— all her muscles were sore, aching; but it was her back, that’s what was making it insufferable right now. Her shirt was wet and warm, stuck to her skin. That must be why she smelled blood. Whatever spell had hit her must have done extensive damage, and hadn't been healed. Where was Harry? Another wave of pain crashed over her body, and she willingly let herself be taken back to unconsciousness.

  


xXxXxXx

  


It was voices this time. Voices she couldn’t quite make out or distinguish between, but they were there. Arguing? She couldn’t tell; they were definitely talking over each other, but she couldn’t pinpoint anything. She could tell her body was laying unceremoniously face down on something hard. The floor? She stretched her hand, fingers spreading flat across the hard surface. They were sticky, coated in some warm liquid— likely blood. Her face was pressed uncomfortably onto the same hard surface, her ear laying in the blood. It was flooding her somehow, and it was too much, the sensation overwhelmingly wrong. She had to move her head, but she couldn’t do that without adjusting her whole body, and even the idea of moving her back, her arms and legs, was too much. So she stayed put, trying to ignore the blood in her ear. It should have been easy to ignore— her injuries were clearly extensive, but the blood pooling around her head somehow felt like it was defying gravity, seeping into ear and requiring her attention. She wanted to shake her head, rub her ear— anything to get it out. She slowly opened her eyes— one eye; the other was pressed against the floor, opening it would mean letting it flood with the warm sticky liquid, so she opened only one. She couldn’t see much. In front of her were the billowy bottoms of several sets of black robes. The lighting was dim, but still bright enough to give her head even more reason to resist this consciousness. She closed her eye again, the energy of being awake— taking stock of her injuries, it was too much. She let herself fade out again.

 

xXxXxXx

  


It was a man’s voice this time. Just one voice at a time now, and she could make out the words.

  
“I know my Lord, I’m sorry. I should have—” The man’s voice was low, apologetic.   
  
“You _should_ have taken care of this problem before it _became_ a problem!” A woman’s voice. Hermione inhaled sharply, the pain from the action almost completely overpowered by the fear that was surging through her veins at the sound. She would recognise that crazed voice anywhere, even half unconscious, as she was.   
  
Bellatrix.   
  
_Where was Harry?_ Hermione opened her eye once more, seeing the backs of the black robed figures again. She twisted her head just enough that she could open her second eye, and peered around, trying harder to recognise her surroundings. She was in some sort of large room. The floor was marbled white—  a stark contrast to the blood pooled on it.   
  
The robes were crowded together in the front of the room— her broken body left forgotten behind them. Voices were rising, as they attempted to be heard. The noise was deafening, and just when Hermione thought it was too much, another bone-chilling voice broke through, talking over the others.   
  
“Enough!” It hissed. “I will speak to Bella and Rodolphus.” His voice was commanding, and she trembled at the sound. Voldemort.   
  
There was a shuffling, as bodies turned to leave, the robes dissipating until only two remained in front of her. Hermione quickly closed her eyes, not wanting to be noticed.   
  
“Lucius, Narcissa, stay,” Voldemort commanded. Hermione heard a door click shut from somewhere behind her, but her attention— her ears— were focused on what was ahead of her.

“My Lord, she is nothing. Let me kill her, let me—” said Bellatrix.   
  
“She is not nothing! She is my daughter, and I will not let you harm her!” It was the same voice she had heard earlier, that she now realised must be Rodolphus— her father.   
  
“You tossed her aside eighteen years ago! She means nothing to you!” Bellatrix screamed.   
  
“I had to keep her safe! From you!” Rodolphus shot back.   
  
“Silence!” Voldemort interrupted. “We cannot let her go, Rodolphus, you know that.”   
  
“Yes, my Lord, but maybe— maybe she will have information for us. Maybe she can stay—” Rodolphus said, clearly struggling to make a solid plea.   
  
“You think she will just turn her back on Potter? For you? I didn’t think you were that stupid, Rod,” Bellatrix said, her voice dripping in disgust.   
  
“Stop talking,” Voldemort commanded.   
  
There was silence. Hermione did not like the silence. She felt like her life was draining out of her— out of her back, more specifically. She could tell it hadn’t stopped bleeding because her shirt was still warm. If it had stopped bleeding, the wetness would have become cold, uncomfortable. It was still warm. She was still bleeding. Thinking about the wound brought the pain into to the forefront of her mind, and she realised she felt lightheaded and nauseous. Suddenly fearing what the silence could mean, Hermione quickly focused her efforts on making sure her mind was protected.   
  
To her surprise, and relief, she found that while not strong, she did still have some of her barriers up. Using every bit of strength she could muster, Hermione strengthened those barriers, reinforcing them, making sure they were impenetrable. Or so she hoped. She let thoughts of the pain, and her worry for Harry float to the forefront of her mind, outside the border that kept her secrets locked away. Once she had done her best to ensure that anyone looking would only find a scared girl, who was currently bleeding out on the floor, she let herself focus once more on the other people in the room.

The robes in front of her— Rodolphus and Bellatrix— shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Hermione knew she was on the verge of passing out again; she just felt so tired, so drained. Her eyelids were heavy, and just as she was about to let them fall shut, Voldemort spoke again.   
  
“The girl needs to be interrogated, to find out what she knows about Potter— his whereabouts.”   
  
“I’d would be more than happy to do that, My Lord.” Bellatrix purred.   
  
Hermione’s stomach turned at Bellatrix’s offer. For the first time, she thought it was lucky that they’d not had much to eat— there was nothing for her to throw up.   
  
“My dear Bella, that will not be necessary. I fear you may get carried away and kill the girl before she is thoroughly questioned. That has happened before, under less personal circumstances. No, best leave it to someone else— Rodolphus, you’re too, _attached.”_ Voldemort sneered the word, as though it were a disgusting, despicable characteristic. “Lucius, go and fetch Rowle.”   
  
Hermione heard the door open and close as Lucius left. _At least it isn’t Bellatrix_ . Whoever this Rowle was, he had to be better than Bellatrix.   
  
“Narcissa, do be a dear and bring us some Pepper-Up,” Voldemort said. Bellatrix scoffed, obviously displeased with this. “You want her to be awake for the interrogation, don’t you Bella?” Voldemort asked calmly.     
  
“Well, yes My Lord, but—” Her usually confident voice was timid.   
  
“Then she will clearly need a potion to regain full consciousness.” he said matter of factly.

  
“Yes, My Lord.”   
  
“Have Rowle get any information out of her that he can, and then put her in the cells. I will decide what to do with her later.” Voldemort said, sounding bored.

  
Hermione heard the door open and shut again, and she prayed to whatever gods were listening that that was the sound of Voldemort leaving. When she could make out a quiet argument between Bella and Rodolphus, she was sure that Voldemort had gone.   
  
Uncertain if it had been two minutes that passed, or twenty Hermione eventually heard the door to the room opened again, and she could make out the steady footsteps of a purposeful stride entering the room. They stopped just behind her, and Hermione’s heart began to race. Her mouth filled with saliva as her body prepared to vomit. She was terrified. What would this Rowle do to her? What would he consider enough information to stop? She swallowed, trying to keep herself from retching.

  
“You two can leave.” She assumed it was Rowle who had spoken, and by the protests coming from Bellatrix and Rodolphus, she knew he had directed that statement to them.

  
“You can’t expect me to leave her here, alone, with you!?” Rodolphus said angrily.   
  
“That is exactly what I expect, Roddy,” Rowle said. His voice was even, calm, and he spoke very matter of factly.   
  
“I really think—” Rodolphus started to object, but stopped abruptly at the sound of a sharp _smack_.

“You should have killed her when you found out you fucking bastard,” Bellatrix said, seething.

Hermione found it was getting harder and harder to focus on the conversation, as the room began spinning and her vision started darkening. The wound on her back was throbbing, simultaneously ice cold and on fire.

“You fucking bitch!” Rodolphus shouted. Hermione could hear heavy footsteps pounding their way further and further away from her until they briefly stopped, and the door opened and then slammed shut.

“Off you go, Bella,” Rowle said, in a far too cheery manner.

“You are a child, Finn. One of these days you are going to make a mistake, and the Dark Lord will let _me_ be the one to punish you— I will not forget this.” Bellatrix said, her voice full of loathing and promise.

“I look forward to it, Bella,” he replied. “Narcissa, Lucius said you had some potions for me to give the girl?”

Hermione heard a slight rustling that she could only guess was Narcissa handing over the potions. She strained to hear what was being whispered between the two and was fully unprepared for the pain that suddenly engulfed her.

Her side tore open the same way her back had, blood instantly flowing from the wound. She screamed, rolling over and curling her body in, her hands splayed out to cover the wound. The sudden movement onto her side seemed to intensify the pain from her back, and Hermione knew she was going to pass out. She prayed she was going to pass out. It was fire, along the entire length of the new wound, and it was spreading outward, consuming her entire left side, from her hip to her ribs.

A part of her mind registered the shouting, the cackling, coming from somewhere in the distance, but the pain was so intense that she could do little more than succumb to it. Writhing on the floor, lost in the agony, Hermione found that her breaths were getting shorter, the air icy in her chest. She couldn’t fill her lungs enough, and everything was starting to spin. She was gasping, her breathing erratic and shallow. She couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. Her blood was pooling around her on the floor, her limbs unable to gain purchase on the smooth surface, slipping and sliding in the warm liquid.

She felt the murky pull of darkness washing over her as consciousness faded. The last thing she was aware of was a hand on her cheek, and a gentle voice, as everything faded to black.

  


xXxXxXx

  


Draco used his shoulder to lazily push his body off the wall he had been leaning on. They had him pulling double duty in the dungeons while he was home for the hols, and though he much preferred guarding the cold, damp cells of Malfoy Manor to some of the other terrible acts required of the Death Eaters, it still was less than pleasurable. Which was why now, at 12:59, he was wondering where the fuck Goyle was.

The rule was you show up ten minutes before shift change, but here it was, one minute until he was supposed to be heading back to the sanctuary that was his bedroom, and no one was there to relieve him. Pissed was an understatement.   
  
Draco ran a hand through his hair and began pacing near the door, impatiently waiting. Goyle was his peer, and they were friendly enough to each other, but he wasn’t staying down here longer than he had to. Especially since he had to come back for his second shift in just four hours. No fucking way was he staying longer than was required. If that meant throwing Goyle under the bus— well, he was the one who was fucking late anyway. Just as he was about to send for someone, the door burst open, and a breathless Goyle stumbled in, clutching his side.

  
“Sorry! I overslept and ran into Dolohov on the way, and he was all excited about something, and gave me this ridiculous list of things he wants and—”   
  
“Stop.” Draco interrupted.

“But I—”

“I don’t give a shit why you’re late. Frankly, I'm almost concerned that you think I would care,” Draco said, glancing at his watch. “As it is now 1:03, I’m leaving.”   
  
He didn’t wait to listen to any more of Goyle’s excuses. Draco pushed through the door and walked up the stairs. The dungeons were quite extensive, taking up a good portion of the manor’s cellars, but their entrance was at the farthest end, away from everything else in the mansion.

As he was walking through the foyer, his mind was on Hermione. He had a bad feeling. He didn't know why, but he had really expected more than ‘Happy Christmas, Draco.’ He wasn’t exactly sure, but he just felt like something wa _s….off._ Draco was so lost in thought, that he nearly ran into his mother, who was walking quickly the opposite direction, her head down, seemingly lost in her own mind.

“Mother?” he said, reaching out to gently grasp her elbows. She looked quite shaken.   
  
“Draco,” she said, clearly surprised to see him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Narcissa hesitated a moment before sighing and schooling her features into her usual mask of indifference. “Nothing, dear. I just—”

A pained woman’s scream interrupted what she was about to say, and Draco whipped his head in the direction of the sound. While it wasn’t uncommon for screams to reverberate across the walls of the manor, that one was particularly unsettling for some reason.

Rather than outright ask his mother, Draco instead simply raised his eyebrows at her slightly and waited. His mother sighed again and spoke.

“Bella went out this morning on a tip from Godric’s Hollow and returned just a short time ago. The Dark Lord is not pleased; they managed to find the Potter boy, but there was a duel and somehow he escaped.”

Draco felt the blood drain from his face and his breath whoosh from his lungs as his mother spoke. He looked at her with disbelief in his eyes. It was a moment before he regained his composure. He spoke slowly, trying to hide any emotions threatening to make their presence known.   
  
“Then who—”

“Bella managed to capture the girl.” His mother said simply. “Your father was sent to fetch Rowle, and—”   
  
“The girl? Mother, what girl?” Draco knew who she meant, but he needed to hear her say it. To confirm his fear.   
  
“Don’t be daft, darling. The Granger girl. The one that Bella—”

“Hermione, her name is Hermione.” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper. His gaze was fixed over his mother’s shoulder, at the door to the ballroom, where the scream had come from. Hermione’s scream.

Only a moment later, a second scream echoed down the hallway, breaking Draco out of his trance. He released his mother, rushing past her and toward the ballroom.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy!” Narcissa’s voice was sharp and stern, halting Draco as if he were just a boy. He felt her hand grab hold of his arm, as she pulled him toward her. “What in Salazar’s name do you think you’re doing?”   
  
“I...I go to school with her, I—” Draco stammered. He couldn’t form a coherent thought, as adrenaline raced through his veins. He had to help her.   
  
“There is nothing you can do for her Draco. The Dark Lord has decided she will be interrogated.” Narcissa said cooly. She offered her arm to him, and Draco automatically took it thanks to years of Pureblood society training. “Come,” she commanded.

Everything in Draco’s body was telling him he had to get to Hermione. He had to help her. But the tiny portion of his brain that had retained focus knew he could do nothing for her right now. It would be bad for both of them if he were to try and intervene— likely worse for Hermione. No, no he couldn’t risk that. So Draco let himself be pulled back down the hall and through the manor behind his mother. He wasn’t paying attention to where they were going, and was surprised when they finally stopped and he found himself in his mother's rooms.

She led him over to the window seat, and gently pushed him to sit before settling down next to him.

“What is going on, Draco?” Her voice was firm and demanded attention.

“I was—” he tried to think of an excuse but couldn't. “She’s from school, Mother. We have several classes together and—” he tried explaining his reaction but was cut off.

“I am your mother, Draco. Do not lie to me.” Narcissa said sternly.   
  
“She’s— Mother, she’s, she’s…” Failing to find the words he was looking for— not even sure if he _knew_ the words he was looking for, Draco simply trailed off. Unable to make eye contact with his mother, he let his gaze drift out the window. It was a moment before she spoke.   
  
“I see.” she sighed, “Well that changes things then, doesn't it,” Narcissa said, quietly. It was silent for a few moments before she lifted her hand and placed it on his forearm, squeezing lightly. “It’s going to be okay, son.”

Draco wasn't sure what she was thinking, or what she thought she knew, but he believed her when she said it was alright, and relief flooded him briefly. With his mother on his side, he had a better chance of convincing his father, who was his only way of swaying the Dark Lord to let her go.

“I've got to get her out of there.”

“You can't, darling. You have to wait. Rodolphus is in the Dark Lord's good graces right now— that and her true blood status will keep her alive, for now. She is going to be...interrogated.”

“You mean tortured!” Draco said, anger rising in his voice.

“Unfortunately, that is the way things are done. But it gives us time to make a plan.” Narcissa said.

“A plan?” Draco was so worried that he couldn't think straight. His mother wasn’t making any sense.

“Yes, Draco. A plan.”

  


xXxXxXx

  


When Hermione opened her eyes again, the first thing she felt, aside from the now constant pain, was confusion. The handsome wizard kneeling in front of her was smiling at her, and had his hand on her upper arm, gently shaking her.   
  
“Ahh, there you are, gorgeous,” he said. She opened her mouth, but he spoke before she could even think what to say. “Don’t do that just yet, drink this first.” He held a small phial to her lips, but Hermione instinctively retracted her head away from the offering, pressing her lips into a hard line.   
  
He chuckled, winking at her. “Smart girl. This is just a Pepper-Up, though. I’ve already done damage control on your wounds, but I’m sure you’re still in a considerable amount of pain. That curse of Bella’s—” he sucked his breath through his teeth and shook his head. Apparently, that curse was as bad as it felt. Hermione kept her lips clamped tightly.

  
“You really don’t have another choice, beautiful. Either you drink it of your own free will, or I pour it down your throat. You choose.”

Hermione only thought about it for a moment before opening her mouth and drinking down the liquid. It _tasted_ like Pepper-Up, and after only a few seconds, it _felt_ like Pepper-Up. While she supposed it could have been laced with something else, that really didn’t make sense. She had been mostly comatose bleeding out on the floor just moments ago. If he had wanted her dead, he could have just left her there.   
  
Which led her to wonder… what was it that he wanted? Who was he anyways?   
  
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice shaky and barely audible.

“Thorfinn Rowle, at your service.” He smiled widely at her, and only a beat later, he winked, “But you can call me Finn, beautiful.”

Well, whoever he was, he was a diehard flirt. Not even her malnourished, broken, bleeding body was enough to keep his remarks at bay.   
  
“Hermione Granger,” she replied, nodding her head slightly.     
  
“Lestrange, if I’m not mistaken,” he corrected her, quirking his eyebrows. She cringed, closing her eyes. He laughed. “So you know, then? That’s interesting.”   
  
Hermione thought the best course of action would be to stay quiet, and not give anything else away. She opened her eyes again, and looked directly into his, not quite challenging, but also not backing down.   
  
“Alright little miss, I’m here on business, not pleasure— unfortunately— so let’s get this over with.” his expression had turned grim, and as he stood, Hermione felt fear creep over her body. What did that mean?   
  
“The Dark Lord has decided that because you are the long lost daughter of Ol’ Roddy, you won’t be killed. At least not straight away. But we’ve got to get some answers from you before we can decide exactly what to _do_ with you.”   
  
Hermione immediately checked, and double checked her Occlumency shields. She could tell that they were still intact enough that she would have felt an intrusion, but she prayed to whatever gods were listening that no one had tried, because they were nowhere near strong enough to withstand one. Focusing all her efforts on keeping him out, Hermione steeled herself for whatever came next.   
  
“This part, I’m truly sorry about. If I don’t hurt you, they won’t accept the interrogation, and someone else will just do it again.” He had turned his back and taken a few steps away from her. Hermione felt a tear fall down her cheek. More pain. She could do this. She had to do this. She had to.   
  
“I won’t do anything permanent, though, I can at least give you that,” Finn said, turning back to face her. He really did look sorry, whatever that counted for. “We need to know everything you know about Potter, beautiful.”

“I have nothing to say,” Hermione said through clamped teeth. Though a very large part of her was elated knowing that if they were torturing her for information, it must mean Harry hadn’t been caught.   
  
Finn sighed, “I thought you’d say that.” He pointed his wand at Hermione, and it was only seconds before she was screaming.

When the pain finally ebbed, Hermione clapped her hand to her arm to stem the bleeding; she knew if she didn’t stop it, she would bleed out, right there on the floor. She opened her eyes to assess the damage of the wound and was shocked to see nothing. Not even a scratch. How was that possible? Whatever he had done had cut her flesh, she felt it.   
  
“I promised not to leave marks,” Finn said. “The torture really isn’t my favourite part.” He added, more to himself it seemed.   
  
Hermione was breathing heavily, and let her head drop onto the hard floor. She didn’t have it in her to hold it up any longer.   
  
“Where is Potter?” Finn asked, and she could feel him probing her mind. Hermione let him see that answer, the truth because it was safe. She really didn't know where Harry was. She had no clue.

“Hmmm, truth. I like that, witch. It will make this messy business go by faster.   
  
“What were you two doing all this time?” he said, pointing his wand at her again. Hermione braced herself this time, both physically and mentally. She wished she had spent more time learning how to falsify thoughts and memories! Why hadn’t she learned that?!   
  
“We were hiding,” she said, trying to put as much truth into her answer as possible. The best lies were based in truth, weren’t they? “We couldn’t go back to school, so we were hiding until we could come up with a plan.”   
  
“Not good enough, doll.” Finn shook his head and pointed his wand at her again. This time the pain was ripping across her stomach, and she felt like her organs were going to fall out. She screamed in agony, writing on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Hermione couldn’t count the number of times she had passed out from pain today, but she knew it was going to happen again. She hoped it would happen now.   
  
It didn’t.   
  
After several more questions and curses, another Pepper-Up, and finally a calming draught, Hermione found herself glad that the last thing that was clear before she passed out again, was Finn’s strong arms lifting her broken body off the floor, and whispering to her,   
  
“It’s over.”

 

xXxXxXx


	22. Fix Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** Fair warning, the F- bomb was used 34 times in this chapter. I'm not going to lie and say I didn't enjoy it though, because let's be real, it's one of my favorite words. Anyways, this story has passed the 100k mark, and I’m insanely proud of that! Plus, it’s almost got 100 reviews and 250+ followers! That is insane to me, and I am so so thankful for you readers! *sending out hugs and love to you all!* Alright, without further adieu—

****  
  


**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

**Fix Her**

 

They had a plan. They had a plan, and everything would be fine. Somehow it was going to work. It had to work. There was no other option.    
  
Draco was pacing back and forth in his room as he waited for his shift in the cells. It had been agony, sitting with his mother, not being able to go to the girl he knew was being tortured just down the hall from him. Agony. He had gotten up and gone to the door several times, only to be dragged back by his mother’s stern voice, reminding him that it would only be worse for her if he went. 

And now that he was alone in his room, with nothing to do but wait, it was even worse. Was she okay? _That was a stupid thing to think. Of course she’s not okay._ How badly is she hurt, is a better question. What could he do for her? _FUCK._   
  
_Nope. Not fucking staying here for three more fucking hours. No fucking way._ Draco quickly checked his appearance in the mirror, making sure he didn’t look as fucking disheveled as he felt, and left his room, locking it as he did.   
  
He set a brisk pace for the cells, mentally daring anyone to cross his path right now. He had to steel himself as he passed the ballroom, forcing everything in him _not_ to go bursting in there and rescuing her. That would just be worse for both of them. He thought maybe she wasn’t in there any longer when he heard no sounds coming from the room, but once he got further down the hallway, he heard her scream again, and his heart broke. She was still in there. _Fuck._   
  
Draco picked up his pace, and was sure he must look crazed, but he didn’t give a fuck. As long as no one saw him, no one would ask questions. He prayed to whatever gods were listening that she would be fine. His mother had said it was Rowle in there with her, and that was actually lucky; if there was _any_ bright side to this, that would be it. The man was one of the few Death Eaters whom Draco actually considered a friend. They were only a few years apart, and while ruthless, Rowle didn’t seem to _enjoy_ things as much as the others. He did what was asked of him, and not much more. Draco had never seen the man torture or kill anyone without direct orders, and when he was ordered to do those things, it was quick and nothing more than was necessary.   
  
He had actually spent quite a bit of time with the man over the summer— they had been partnered on several missions, and worked well together. Draco didn’t often put faith or hope into anything, but in this case, he fervently hoped that Rowle would stick to his usual tactics; using curses and spells that left no marks, and not pushing the victim past the point of no return. _Gods he needed her to be okay._ Approaching the door, Draco steadied himself, and took a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping into the darkened area.   
  
Closing the door behind him, Draco was unsurprised to see Goyle sitting with his head bowed down, seemingly unaware anyone had entered the room. They had only had one prisoner up until today, and he was actually moved this morning. There was no point in having a guard stationed down here right now, except to keep up routine. _Fucking stupid._  
  
“Goyle!” Draco shot, needing someone to take out his tension on.   
  
He watched as Goyle startled, nearly falling off the stool he had been perched on. “Shit Malfoy! What the fuck mate?”   
  
“You can go now— do whatever it was that Dolohov asked.” Draco said cooly, hoping his voice wouldn't shake.   
  
“But it’s—” he looked at his watch, “Malfoy, it’s still hours before you’re supposed to be back here.” 

“Yeah, well consider my utter boredom your lucky day. Go, before I change my mind.” Draco shrugged, walking to the other chair in the room. 

  
Goyle didn’t need to be told twice. He stood from the stool and walked to the door, turning his head when he reached out for the handle. “Thanks, Malfoy.” And he was gone.    
  
Draco let out a breath of air he hadn’t known he was holding.  _ Shite. _ More waiting. Looking around the dimly lit room, he felt his skin crawl. The cells at Malfoy Manor were really just that: Cells. From the main chamber where the guards mostly stayed put, it branched off to a dark hallway, lined with small rooms. Rooms was a nice term for it. They had cold bar doors, damp, dirty stone floors, no light, and no private loo. Several years ago his father had working toilets installed, because the smell and lack of sanitation of buckets was quite disgusting. Though the change was made for the guards, the prisoners were the real ones to benefit, if you could call it that. Either way, the working toilets were one of the only pluses down here. 

Draco stood and began pacing, unable to sit still with his thoughts. He walked to the far wall, and back several times before stopping and placing both palms against the cold stone, leaning forward until his forehead met its firm resistance.   
  
“Fuck,” he whispered. His hands slid down the wall, reaching abdomen level before he pushed off, straightening his body.    
  
“FUCK!” he bellowed, balling his hand into a fist and slamming it into the stone. He immediately sucked in a breath as the pain radiated into his fingers and hand. Draco pulled his fist away from the wall shaking his fingers out, before rubbing it with his other hand. His palm met a warm wetness, and he realised he had drawn blood. Looking down, his knuckles were scratched, and there was a line of fresh blood dripping across them. 

“Well, shit,” he said, walking to the cupboard in the corner. He reached inside and grabbed the bottle of Dittany, pouring a single drop onto his palm and watching the wound close. “How long does it fucking take to torture a person!?” he asked out loud, frustratedly.    
  
It was another ten minutes of agonising pacing before Draco heard the door scrape across the floor. His heart plummeted into his stomach, and his chest turned ice cold. He didn’t have time for any thoughts aside from expletives, as he watched Rowle walk in, carrying her.    
  
Draco stood, staring at the dark blond holding the body of Hermione Granger. His heart was stopped, he was sure of it. She was completely limp, head lolled to the side as Rowle crossed over to him, and Draco was scared. When he finally found his voice, his words came out in low, pained tones.    
  
“What the fuck happened?” he asked.    
  
“She was captured by Bella this morning. The Dark Lord wanted her questioned, and then brought here.” Rowle replied, giving no extra information.    
  
“Is she—” Draco couldn’t finish the question.    
  
“She’ll be alright, I think— physically. She’s a fucking strong witch, that’s for sure. It wasn’t until the very end, when she was barely conscious that I even realised she was using Occlumency. And I still couldn’t get through.” Rowle sounded awed, and Draco felt relief flood his body.  _ He hadn’t gotten through.  _   
  
“Damn” was all Draco could come up with for a response.   
  
Rowle nodded in agreement, and looked around the room, “Where do you want her?” he asked.    
  
Draco steadied himself, trying to look nonchalant as he let his gaze slide around the room. Shrugging his shoulders, he replied. “Just give her to me, I’ll find a cell for her.”    
  
Rowle took a step toward him, and Draco held his arms out as the man placed Hermione in them.    
  
“Shit—” he hissed. Rowle narrowed his eyes questioningly, and Draco added, “She’s fucking light. I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Rowle sighed, and Draco saw an expression he couldn’t quite place come across the man’s features— tenderness? Concern? Fucking weird, whatever it was.   
  
“Bella got her pretty good, she’s lost a lot of blood. I healed up what I could, but Bella used that curse she’s so fond of.” He looked down, holding his arms out slightly. “I’m going to assume by the amount of blood on my arms that some of the wounds have opened up again. She’s going to need a lot of work. Plus, by the looks of her, I don’t think she’s had a proper meal in… well, in a long time.” Rowle admitted, bringing a hand up to stroke hair from her cheek. “I’m going to come check on her after I finish some stuff up. Don’t fucking— just take care of her.” He said the last bit quietly, and Draco’s expression tightened, as his eyebrows raised.   
  
Rowle saw the look Draco was giving him, and he shrugged, speaking as he turned to the door. “She’s impressive; I like her.” 

And with that, Draco was alone with Hermione. He supposed it was lucky that Rowle seemed to be so impressed with her, but it left him feeling territorial and bitter. Draco held out his wand, performing a little alarm spell he had perfected several years prior— it came in quite handy to know if someone was approaching when you had to share a dorm room. At least now he would know if someone was going to interrupt them— he would have time to put on whatever show he had to for them. _Shit_. He was going to have to— nevermind that. It didn’t matter what he was going to have to do later. Right now, he had to take care of her. Right now, he had to figure out what she needed, and _fix her._ _Fuck._   
  
Draco carried her lifeless body down the hall, to one of the empty cells, and waved his wand at the floor in the corner, casting a cushioning charm. There wasn’t much he could do about the accommodations, but that was better than nothing he supposed.   
  
He sank to the floor holding her, cradling her body into his chest. He sat still, heart racing, for only a moment before he knew he had to act. Draco gently laid her on the cold stone floor, and straightened his posture, shaking his head a little as he tried to clear the dread filling his mind. He had to be clinical. He had to just treat her, and not think about _who_ she was. _Fuck._ _Alright._   
  
_“Diffindo.”_ he said, gesturing his wand down her shirt, slicing the fabric so he could see the extent of her wounds. His breath was coming in short, shallow puffs as he gently peeled the front of her shirt open. She was covered in blood— both dry and fresh. The first thing he noticed was a large purple scar crossing her upper abdomen and rib cage. It looked to have healed long ago, so after the initial shock of seeing it, he ignored it. There was a barely healed gash on her left side that looked like it ran the length of her torso, though he couldn’t tell for sure because it was covered in blood and still actively bleeding. He cast another _Diffindo_ on the sleeve of her shirt, and easily pulled the fabric from her body, setting it aside.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Draco summoned the Dittany and blood-replenishing potion that was kept in a cabinet in the main chamber of the cells. Just as he was uncorking the bottle, Hermione let out a pained moan, causing him to nearly drop the bottle in his nervousness.   
  
“Hermione? Hermione, it’s me. It’s Draco. I’m here. Hermione, you’re okay now. You’re— you’re going to be okay,” he whispered, bringing his empty hand up to stroke her cheek. She had tears falling from her eyes, but they were closed, her face contorted into a grimace.   
  
She moaned again, and Draco knew that the comfort he wanted to offer her would have to wait— she needed medical attention and he had to focus on that. He held the phial of Dittany between his teeth and used both of his hands to gently roll her body toward him, revealing the extent of the damage on her left side. He wrapped one arm across her back, holding her body at an angle and grabbing the Dittany with his free hand. Tilting the phial, he watched as the tiny droplets hit the wound, and the bleeding slowed, then stopped, and the skin began stitching itself together again.

Draco sighed deeply in relief. He hadn’t been positive how the cursed wound would react to the potion, but apparently it was at least going to close it up. He was positive Hermione would end up with another nasty scar though, unfortunately. Bella was prone to using curses that would scar permanently, because she enjoyed the fact that every time the victim saw it, they would feel the terror all over again. 

  
He gently eased Hermione all the way onto her stomach, and groaned at the sight of her back. His fucking crazy aunt had hit her with this curse _twice_ in one sitting! No wonder she was hardly conscious, the amount of blood lost from only one of these wounds could kill someone. He dripped the Dittany onto the gash on her back, watching it staunch the bleeding and close the wound that ran from below her left shoulder blade across to the other side, above the right one. Once he was sure it had closed completely, Draco rolled Hermione gently back so she was face up, and cradled her head into his lap. He delicately used one thumb to open her jaw, and pour in the Blood-Replenishing potion, while his other hand softly stroked her throat, willing her unconscious body to swallow. When she had taken the potion, Draco set the bottle aside, and let out a shaky exhale. Now that he was sure he had healed what wounds he could, Draco felt the adrenaline in his body ease up, only to be replaced with pure hatred for his aunt and, and— _shit._ __  
__  
Draco laid Hermione’s head on the ground as he quickly stood up and turned from her, taking three long steps before he bent forward and retched all over the floor.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispered, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. Draco straightened up, placing one hand on the wall to steady himself, and running the other down his face. “Salazar’s fucking ballsack.”   
  
Quickly casting a freshening charm on his mouth, Draco vanished the mess and turned to walked back to Hermione. He lifted her head into his lap once more, stroking her sweat-soaked hair away from her face, and took in her appearance as a whole. It made him want to vomit all over again.   
  
He could literally count her ribs, and her protruding hip bones could probably injure someone. _When was the last time you ate, Granger?_ __What the fuck were you and Potter doing? Draco summoned a blanket from the main chamber, covering her body with it when it came zooming into his hands. Hermione moaned again, and he could tell she was coming to. She sounded afraid, and in pain as she slowly began to move her head from side to side.   
  
“Shhhh, Hermione, it’s okay. Don’t— don’t move. It’s alright, you’re alright,” he whispered.   
  
“Dr— Draco?” she croaked, her voice shaky and filled with fear.   
  
“It’s me, it’s me, you’re okay. I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry,” Draco said, his voice choked with emotion.   
  
Hermione opened her eyes, and swallowed hard. “Harry?” she asked.   
  
“I don’t know where he is, but they didn’t catch him. He’s not here.” Draco assured her.   
  
He saw relief flood her instantly, and her body relaxed.   
  


“Fucking Gryffindor,” he shook his head, the tiniest smile across his lips, “You fucking almost died, and you’re still more worried about Potter.”    
  
“He’s my, he’s my—” she struggled to speak, so Draco quickly cut her off.    
  
“Shhh, it’s okay, I know, don’t speak. Just rest, Hermione. I’ve got you,” he said, stroking her cheek again, willing her back to sleep. He didn’t want to know what fucking  _ Potter _ was to her anyway. The thought of whatever it was between them had him clenching his fist and grinding his teeth. No, best not to think about that right now.    
  
Draco watched as Hermione’s breathing slowed, and she fell into an uneasy sleep. He had a feeling she would be out for a good portion of time, as her body began to heal, so he maneuvered their bodies, adjusting himself so that he could lean against the wall. She let out a little pained groan as he moved them, and it shot right through him in a way nothing had before; her pain was his pain. Draco pulled her sleeping form into his lap, letting her curl into him, as he closed his eyes, and did his best not to jostle her again. 

  
  


xXxXxXx

  
  


Several hours had passed before Draco heard the little alarm bell, alerting him to someone’s presence on the staircase leading down to the cells. 

  
“Fuck,” he whispered as he gently removed Hermione’s head from his lap, tucking a corner of the blanket underneath it. He stood up, and with one glance back at her tiny form, he walked out of the cell and into the main chamber.    
  
Rounding the corner into the better lit, but still dim main chamber of the cells, his muscles were sore and stiff from sitting on the stone floor unmoved for so long, and, when he glanced down, he noticed the usually stark white sleeves of his button up were covered in blood. His body involuntarily shivered as his mind recalled what had brought that blood to his sleeves.

He had just settled into the chair when the door creaked open, revealing one Thorfinn Rowle, now changed from his own bloodied clothes. Draco felt a confusing mixture of both anger and appreciation toward the man. Anger, because he knew that Rowle had caused Hermione an incredible amount of pain, but appreciation, because he also knew that he had only done what was necessary, and no more.    
  
“Rowle,” Draco nodded his head in greeting at the man, who was closing the door behind him.    
  
“Malfoy, how is she?” he asked. It surprised Draco that the man had such concern in his voice, but he tried to ignore it.    
  
“She’s asleep. I was able to heal everything, but she’ll scar.”    
  
Rowle nodded his head, and ran a hand through his long bronze hair, sighing. “I figured as much.”    
  
There was silence between the two men for a moment. Draco knew Rowle was here to relieve him, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave yet.    
  
“She needs to eat,” he said lamely, trying to find any excuse to either stay, or come back. Rowle nodded again, and Draco sighed. “Did you find out  _ anything _ , or was it a waste of time?”    
  
“Nothing. All I got was that her and Potter were running all over the fucking place, hiding.” Rowle said, shaking his head and letting out a little huff. “The Dark Lord was fucking displeased to hear that was all I got, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t normally say this, but that little witch is lucky that she is Roddy’s daughter— The Dark Lord is going easy on her because of it.”    
  
“Yeah, because an hour of torture and two nasty curses from Bella is going  _ easy _ .” Draco scoffed.    
  
“Two curses  _ and  _ a Crucio. Bella said she got her before they got back to the Manor,” Rowle said, sounding almost disgusted. Draco was confused by his reaction, but tried not to show it. It was easy to hide said confusion though, when he was again filled with rage over his aunt’s actions.    
  
“Fucking hell, how did she—” Draco couldn’t articulate a proper sentence, but it didn’t matter, because Rowle cut him off anyways.    
  
“I didn’t even go easy on her, mate. I couldn’t, what with your dad standing in the room, making sure I did it properly.” He shook his head. “Like I said, she’s a fucking strong little witch.”   
  
Draco just nodded, not wanting to give anything away. They remained silent for another beat, before Rowle sat himself on the stool, and shrugged at Draco.    
  
“Well, you can go then. I know how much you  _ love _ to be down here.”    
  
Without any reason to stay, and not wanting to be suspicious, Draco realised he would have to leave. It was with immense reluctance that he pried himself out of the chair, and began to move his body toward the door. He put his hand on the knob, and turned to Rowle.    
  
“I spent a lot of time healing her. Don’t fuck it up.” He said.    
  
Rowle, who had leaned slightly forward and turned his body to peer down the hall, slowly turned back to Draco, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face. He clicked his tongue several times, and shook his head.    
  
“Tsk tsk Draco, is that concern I’m detecting?” he said, clearly mocking him, but also seeming genuinely curious.    
  
“You know I’m the one who has to brew all the damn potions for down here, and I had to use a fucking lot on her. I don’t want them to fucking go to waste, is all.” He spat, and yanked the door open, leaving Hermione in Rowle’s care for the second time today.   
  


xXxXxXx

 


	23. His Terrible-Not-Going-To-Work Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Holy crap guys!!! 100 reviews! That's insane! Thank you so so much, I love you all— even though you’re terrible for my ego! Your comments and guesses and love is so motivating!
> 
> Xoxo! Luce

 

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

**His Terrible-Not-Going-To-Work Plan** ****  


 

It was dark when Hermione awoke. She was shivering, causing her muscles to contract with searing pain around her wounds, which she could tell had been healed. They hurt like hell, but her back and side weren’t sticky with blood anymore and— _wait, where was her shirt?_ She put one hand down on the floor in front of her, realising immediately that it was cold stone. Where was she? Hermione gingerly pushed her body to an upright position and used her other hand to pull the scratchy blanket up with her, covering her half naked torso. A glance around the room didn’t answer any of her questions as it was completely dark. She tightly blinked a few times, trying to help her eyes adjust to the darkness. After a moment she could start to make shapes out, but it didn’t do much good.   
  
There wasn’t anything here. It was a small room, with what looked like a toilet in the corner, and... bars at the door? What was— _a cell._ She was in a cell. Groaning, Hermione pulled the blanket a little tighter around her body, trying not to wonder who else had used it before her. She felt incredibly weak and drained. _Blood loss_ , she thought. Hermione let her head drop to the side, rolling it down in front, and around to the back, stretching her sore muscles.   
  
She had to come up with a plan to get out of here, but not knowing exactly where _here_ was made even beginning that process difficult. Hermione looked around for any clues, but there was literally nothing to give her location away. She shuddered at her next thought.

  
_Bellatrix._   
  
She had been caught by Bellatrix, and the mad woman had cursed her several times. Memories of what happened began creeping into her mind, and she shivered involuntarily as her body remembered. She was alive, and she supposed that was lucky in and of itself. She could remember the icy chill of Voldemort's voice, and the discussion of what to do with her. And, and— 

 

Torture.   
  
She was tortured.   
  
Hermione tried to rationalise with herself— she was relatively safe right now, her injuries had clearly been healed, she was alone, it was over— but her breathing still became ragged, coming in short, shallow gasps, as the memory of the pain and fear filled her body.

 

_Breathe, Hermione. Breathe._ She forced herself to take one deep breath, holding it for a count of three, and then releasing it slowly. _I’m okay._ Another breath, hold, release. _I’m alive._ Again, breathe in, hold, out. She continued the pattern several times until her body had calmed down, though her hands were still shaking.   
  
Hermione scooted back, until she came into contact with the wall behind her, and let herself relax a little into the cold unforgiving surface. She tipped her head back slightly, and let her eyes close. Continuing to breathe, she tried to think of anything that would help her. She had no idea what happened to her wand, so magic was out at this point. Not knowing exactly where she was meant that logistically, it would be hard, if not impossible, to plan an escape. She had seen nothing in this cell that could be used as a weapon, though once her body healed enough that she could take a deep breath without resounding pain, she supposed she should search the entire thing, just in case.

Hermione had been so caught up in her mind that she hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching. A voice cleared from the front of the cell, causing her to startle painfully, yelping from the surprise and the pain of her sudden movement.   
  
“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright. I’m not— I won’t hurt you.” It was a man’s voice, deep and gravelly. Hermione couldn’t place who it belonged to, but it was ringing a bell of familiarity in her mind. She pulled the blanket closer to her chest and squinted through the darkness, trying to make out her visitor.   
  
“It’s— I’m… My name is Rodolphus, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said awkwardly.   
  
Hermione felt as though her heart skipped several beats, as she tried to figure out how to respond. She hadn’t been prepared for this.

 

“I’m Hermione,” she whispered lamely, completely confused and unsure of what else to say.

  
He laughed— _laughed—_ and she didn’t know what to do about that. Was he mad? _It’s actually quite likely the case, Hermione. He did spend years locked in Azkaban with Dementors surrounding him and— NOT the time!_ She cut her internal dialogue short, and instead tried to think of what to say.   
  
“Where am I?” she asked, her voice only marginally more sure now.   
  
He growled quietly, and she could hear his anger as he responded. “The cells of Malfoy Manor. Not for long, though, if I have any say.”   
  
_Malfoy Manor?_ She felt a tiny bubble of hope rise in her chest!   
  
“I know you’re scared, but you can trust me, Hermione. I— I know this is going to be hard to believe, and you have no reason to trust me or believe anything I say, but— I, I’m your, you’re my, we’re…” he paused, sighing deeply. “I’m your father, Hermione,” he said. She could hear his voice shaking, and was oddly pleased to hear the sincerity in it.

 

She was also surprised to find that while part of her mind was screaming at her to run the other direction— metaphorically, of course— another, larger part of it was telling her to trust this man, at least a little bit. If what she had learned about him up until now was correct, then he had given her up to protect her when she was a baby, _and_ he tried to protect her again when she was brought here. _Not that it did much good,_ she thought bitterly.   
  
“I’m going to get you out of here as soon as I can,” he said. All she could do was nod her head, having apparently lost her ability to speak.   
  
“I’ll be back, alright?” He seemed to be waiting for a response from her, so she made some non-committal confirmation that she had heard him, and watched as his shadowy figure nodded, and stood. One last look at her, and he was gone. She was alone again.  

 

She listened as his footsteps grew more distant. After only a moment, she heard the faint sound of a door slamming. His visit had actually been a little helpful. She now knew rough details about her location. Malfoy Manor, likely underneath it somewhere if the cold, damp floors and walls were any indication. Plus this area probably wasn’t that expansive, since it had only taken him a moment to reach what she assumed was where a guard was stationed, and then leave.   
  
It wasn’t much, but still— any information was more than she started with, so she tucked it away, and let her eyes fall closed. _She just met her father._ Was he nice? Or did it just feel nice for someone not to torture her? This was so messed up. Hermione didn’t want to think about it yet, so she tried to push it all from her mind, breathing as deeply as she could without sending searing pain through her body.   
  
_Where was Harry?_ It was dead quiet aside from her own breathing, and Hermione prayed to Merlin that meant she was alone down here, and Harry escaped before he was caught. _Please please please let Harry be ok. Let Harry be ok._ She sighed, refusing to let more tears fall. Now what?   
  
_Oh!_ Rodolphus said she was in Malfoy Manor! When Draco messaged her earlier— Merlin, it was Christmas. She got tortured for Christmas. How incredibly depressing. Shaking her head, Hermione made a mental note that she was likely in a bit of a shock; that was the reason she wasn’t falling apart yet and was able to think about all of this logically. It made sense, because not only had she suffered a traumatic event, but it was coupled with the extreme pain of torture. She supposed waking up alone and half naked in what she could only assume was a dungeon cell, then meeting her biological father could also be considered a traumatic event, so really the fact that she was still mentally functional was quite impressive— or at least she felt mentally functional…

 

Although, now that she was calmed down from her initial wake up, and then meeting Rodolphus, she was feeling very tired. Her eyelids were drooping, and all she wanted to do was lay down and sleep. She assumed it was an after effect of the blood loss. Really, sleeping was probably a good idea, while she could. It would help her body heal quicker, which was going to be important if she was going to figure out a way to escape this place.   
  
Hermione took care as she lowered herself onto the cold stone floor again, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, and curling tightly into a ball. She laughed bitterly at the morbid thought that crossed her mind. _It was lucky she had almost been killed, otherwise, there is no way she would be able to sleep without Harry._ As it was, her body was so physically wiped out that she could hardly stay awake long enough to scold herself for her morbidity, so she let her eyes fall closed, and welcomed sleep.

  


xXxXxXx

  


His eyes were dry and bloodshot. His body stiff; a combination of tensed muscles, and tossing and turning all night. He hadn’t slept at all. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could hear was her screaming. All he could see was her emaciated body, peppered in scars, and covered in blood. So instead, he hadn’t slept.   
  
Three times he had made it halfway to the dungeons, just to turn around and walk right back to his room, reminding himself that it wouldn’t do either of them any good for him to be caught sneaking down there. Eventually, his restless body ran out of energy, and he simply sat, staring at his door, waiting until he could go see her.   
  
_What the fuck had happened?_ How did they get caught? He _told_ her they needed to be more careful! _Why hadn’t she listened!?_   
  
Frustrated, Draco stood up and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He walked across his room and into the bathroom, stripping his clothes off once inside. He started a hot shower, in hopes that it would not only relieve some of his tension but also pass time until he was able to go check on Hermione.   
  
Stepping into the water, he let out a hiss as it scalded his skin. _Good._ He needed that. Maybe his skin fucking melting off his body would be enough to distract him for a few moments. He began the monotonous task of soaping his hair and body. Unfortunately, it was completely mindless, and there was nothing to distract his thoughts from returning to Hermione.   
  
Hermione. Who was currently laying on a stone cold floor, half dead, and probably scared out of her mind.   
  
“Fuck!” he said, slamming a palm onto the tiled wall in front of him. Why was the only plan they could come up with, one that would take so bloody long? He punched his fist into the wall several times, pissed that he couldn’t come up with anything better. Groaning, Draco straightened, letting the water wash over him. They _did_ have a plan, though. At least they had a plan. It would take time, but the chance of success was actually pretty high if both he and his mother were correct.   
  
The fact that Hermione was a pureblood would spare her life. The fact that she was Rodolphus’ daughter would elevate her status. And if they played their cards right, the fact that she was best friends with Potter could be forgotten, eventually. His lips briefly formed a half smile as he thought about how much work his mother would have trying to turn Hermione into a proper pureblood lady before he was suddenly brought back to reality. She was still in a cell, in this very moment, and that was nothing to smile about.   
  
Draco turned the water off and stepped out of the shower wrapping a towel around his waist, before heading back into his room to dress. After using his wand to dry his body and hair, Draco dressed in his predictable black trousers and white button up. He grabbed an extra white undershirt, shrinking it down small enough to fit in his pocket, and checked his reflection in the mirror.

 

He looked like shite.   
  
At least he could cast a basic glamour to hide the redness in his eyes and the bags underneath them. He didn’t need people asking ridiculous questions about his appearance today. Draco checked the time and was relieved when it was half-past eight. He only had thirty minutes until his shift in the dungeons. _Perfect_ .   
  
Draco quickly exited his room, locking the door on his way out, and headed down into the kitchens. It was still early enough that he didn’t pass anyone on his way. Once there he grabbed a plate, filling it high with eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and fruit. The house elves always had an assortment of breakfast foods ready at the crack of dawn, since everyone was on such different schedules. He threw a second plate over the first, spelling it to stick closed, and shrunk that as well. Grabbing a fork, he left the kitchen and made his way down to the dungeons.   


Pushing open the door, Draco walked into the dim room, nodding to the man sitting on the stool.

  
“Jugson,” Draco said, watching him yawn, and stand up.   
  
“Nothing to report. Quiet night.” he shrugged, stretching and walking toward the door. “See ya.”   
  
Saying nothing in return, and instead simply watching for the door to slide shut behind the man, he was incredibly glad for the brevity today, as small talk probably wasn’t something he was capable of at the moment.

 

Draco waited, giving Jugson time to make it up the stairs before he cast his alarm spell. Once it was set, he turned and raced down the little hallway to Hermione’s cell, not slowing until he was at the door.   
  
She was in virtually the same position he had left her in— curled on the floor under the blanket. He listened quietly for a moment; her breathing was shallow but regular; he thought she was probably sleeping.   
  
Draco pulled out his wand and unlocked the cell door, slipping inside. He squatted next to her, sighing.   
  
“Hermione,” he whispered, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder.   
  
She startled awake, yelping and violently pulling away from him, shaking.   
  
“Shhhh, it’s alright, Hermione. It’s me. It’s Draco,” he said, putting both hands up to reassure her he meant no harm, and watching her visibly sag with relief when she recognised him.   
  
“Draco,” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking.   
  
“Shhhh, it’s alright love, come here,” he said, sinking to his knees and reaching out to her. She hardly waited a moment before scrambling into his outreached arms. Draco pulled her into his lap, trying to hold her gently so as not to put unnecessary pressure on her surely-still-sore wounds. That didn’t seem to be her top priority, though, because as soon as she was in his arms, she pressed herself into his body as if she were trying to melt into him.   
  
“It's going to be alright.” Draco held her tightly, and ran a hand down her hair, trying to soothe her as best he could.   
  
“What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.   
  
“What do you remember?”   
  
“We— there was a duel, at the graveyard, and then Harry tried to apparate us away, but something— something went wrong. It’s all hazy from there. I was on the floor in some big room; there were a lot of people. And then there was just one, a man, and he— he…” she sniffled, burying her head further into his chest, “and then I woke up here, and— Oh gods!” She was suddenly scrambling out of his lap and Draco had to refrain from reaching out and pulling her back. His arms felt incredibly empty with her gone.   
  
“What are you doing?” he asked.

 

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that he could see her grab the blanket from the floor and wrap it around herself. _Oh._ He hadn’t even noticed that she was without a shirt, even though he knew she would be.   
  
“I’m— I don’t know what happened, but I—” she cleared her throat, looking down.   


Draco leant back slightly so that he could pull the shirt he brought from his pocket and quickly returned it to its original size. Holding it out to her, he turned his head away to give her some privacy.   
  
“I brought you this.” He felt her take the shirt from his hand and kept his head turned until she cleared her throat again.   
  
“Thank you. I don’t actually know what happened to mine.”   
  
“I had to cut it off,” he said awkwardly. “You were— when you came in here you were in pretty bad shape, Hermione.”   
  
“I— how long have I been here?” she asked.   
  
“Bella brought you to the Manor yesterday morning. You’ve only been here a day. I was the one on duty when—” Draco took a deep breath as anger and bile rose in his stomach, but he tried to keep his voice even, “When Rowle brought you in from… you were bad shape, Hermione. You could have died,” he finished in a whisper, his voice tight with emotion.   
  
Hermione was silent for a moment, and Draco used that time to even his breathing, reminding himself that Rowle only did what he had to do and that the man actually seemed concerned for her wellbeing.   
  
“What did—” Hermione took a deep breath before continuing, “What is going to happen to me, Draco?”

 

“I’m going to get you out of here, Hermione, I promise you that. I will get you out, if it’s the last thing I do,” he said seriously. “But it might take— it might take a while.”   
  
“How long is a while?” she asked gently.   
  
“I’m not sure. We have a plan, but—”

 

“Who is we? What plan?”   
  
Draco steadied himself, taking a deep breath. He knew she wasn’t going to like this plan. It wouldn’t surprise him if she outright refused it, but he had to convince her. He had to make her understand that this was the only way to keep her safe.   
  
“You’ve got to switch sides, Hermione.”

  


xXxXxXx

  


Hermione had listened to Draco explain this ‘plan’ quietly. She listened to him explain it; all the caveats, and possible scenarios, even likely outcomes. She listened quietly until he was finished, finally silent.   
  
“Hermione?” he asked, waiting for her to respond.   
  
She took a deep breath, trying to gather her words before she spoke. “Are you insane, Draco? Honestly, have you gone and lost your mind while you’ve been here?”   
  
“What? No, Hermione, this is the only way to get you out of here! You have to switch sides. You have to swear your allegiance to the Dark Lord. Otherwise, you’ll likely rot down here. He isn’t going to just let you go running back to Potter.”   
  
“Right, well that’s not happening Draco, so consider me rotting.” She crossed her arms and set her jaw. There was no way she was going to just abandon Harry and the Order, give up on everything they’d been working for. He was crazy for even thinking that she would consider that an option. Surely Harry would come up with a plan to rescue her… But— but even if he didn’t, if they couldn’t get her out of here— no, no she couldn’t think like that. She _would_ get out of here. She had to. Hermione looked at Draco again, and she knew he thought it was the only way; her only hope of making it out alive.

 

“Hermione, you have to see that this is our only option, don’t you? In what scenario do you imagine the Dark Lord will just let you go back to Potter and the Order? How exactly do you see that working out?” he asked, almost pleading.   
  
“I don’t know, Draco. All I know right now is that I cannot do that. As you’ve said, there are really only two outcomes. If I were to somehow convince You-Know-Who that I suddenly decided I wanted to be on his side, which is crazy on its own mind you, but if I _were_ to somehow trick him into thinking that I had left the Order, wanted no part of it, if I did manage that, then as you’ve said, I would either be a Pureblood breeding mare, or a Death Eater. Neither of those are options for me, Draco. It’s not happening. So I don’t know how I am going to get out of this, but it’s not like that,” Hermione said, lifting her chin in hard defiance.   
  
“Hermione, I don’t—” Draco was cut off suddenly by the sound of the alarm. “Shit! Someone’s coming! Just— fuck, just stay here.” he said, jumping to his feet and brushing his pants.   
  
“Oh, like I have another option,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.   
  
“Fuck, ok, I’ll— I’ll be back. I’m sorry, Hermione.”

  
Clearly rattled, Draco walked out, shutting and locking the door, leaving Hermione alone in the darkness once more. When Draco’s footsteps faded away, and silence rang clear again, Hermione sat back against the wall, wrapping her arms around her body.

 

_How could he think she would be willing to join the dark side? A side that had hated her simply on principle!_ His plan was insane. She may be good at Occlumency now— apparently good enough to fool this Rowle, whoever he was— but there was no way she was good enough to pass You-Know-Who’s test. He would certainly break through her barriers, and once he did, he would kill her. Or worse, let Bellatrix kill her. That woman obviously hated her, and would certainly make her death as long and painful as possible.   
  
Hermione shivered, trying to push that from her mind. It wouldn’t do her any good to think like that. She had to focus on coming up with a plan; on figuring out how to escape, or at least let the Order know she was alright. Help _them_ come up with a plan to rescue her. Maybe Draco could somehow pass messages to them when he went back to Hogwarts. Yes, yes that would have to be her starting point. She would figure this out. She had to.

  


xXxXxXx

  


Hermione only had about five minutes to think about Draco’s ‘plan’ —- his terrible, not-going-to-work plan—- before he was back at the door of her cell, opening it and slipping inside. This time he was carrying something in his hand, and Hermione fervently hoped her senses weren’t tricking her, because it smelled like food.   
  
“I forgot, I brought this for you.” He said, sitting down next to her and holding out a plate full of delicious smelling breakfast things. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so much food, and her mouth was watering.   
  
“Thank you,” she managed, before picking up a sausage patty with her hands and biting into it. “Ohmygod,” she mumbled between chews, “Food!”   
  
Draco chuckled quietly, sitting back against the wall while she ate. It was only a minute before she slowed down and then stopped eating entirely.   
  
“Do you not like it?” he asked.   
  
“What? No, it’s delicious. This is literally the best food I’ve had in months.” she said, letting out a nervous giggle. “It’s just, well, that was the most food I’ve had in one sitting since we left Grimmauld Place… in September. I’m— if I eat any more, I’ll probably just throw it up,” she finished quietly.

 

“Fuck,” Draco said under his breath, looking down.

 

“It’s fine, Draco.” She shook her head and wiped her hands on her pants, which immediately caused her to groan in disgust. Her pants were the same ones she’d been wearing for months with nothing more than a cleaning charm every now and then. And now they were crusted with blood. “Ew.”   
  
“I didn’t think to bring you pants,” Draco said uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his blond hair, sighing.   
  
“Clean pants are probably the least of my worries right now,” she shrugged, though truth be told, she was a little disappointed.     
  
“I can bring some back, on my next watch.”   
  
“Alright. Could you, um, would it be possible— oh, nevermind.” Hermione’s cheeks reddened in the darkness as she shook her head. She had been about to ask him to bring her some clean knickers, but decided against it. One, he probably didn’t have brand new knickers just laying around, and two, they weren’t on that level of comfort with each other yet. It would just embarrass her more. So she quickly changed the subject. “How long will you be here for?”   
  
“This shift is until one, and then I come back at five for—”

 

“No, I mean, how many days until you go back to Hogwarts,” she asked, interrupting him.   
  
“Oh. Today is December 26th, and the train leaves January 3rd. So eight days. But I don’t think I can go back, Hermione. I can’t leave you here.”

 

“You have to go back Draco. There is no reason for you to stay. If they find out that we’re… ” Hermione held her hands up, gesturing between their bodies, searching for the right words. “You can’t blow your cover by staying here for me, Draco. Besides, it’s much safer for you at Hogwarts.”   
  
“Fuck what’s safer for me, Hermione. You’re sitting in a cell, underneath the main headquarters for Death Eaters. My crazy aunt wants you dead, and she spends nearly half her time here! What’s stopping her from coming down and just doing it?” He was visibly shaking now, so Hermione placed her hand on his arm.   
  
“Draco, we have to be logical about this. You’ve already said that Rodolphus is in good standing right now, which likely means I’m safe. Harry will likely head back to the Order, and they will think of something to rescue me,” she said confidently.   
  
“Hermione, that’s—”   
  
“I won’t let you stay here because of me.”   
  
“Oh? And how exactly are you going to stop me?” he snapped.

 

“Don’t. Just— just go back, for me? If you don’t, I’ll be worried about you all the time. Like you said, I’m already locked in a cell. I don’t think I can handle much more stress.”   
  
Draco loudly huffed, looking away toward the door of the cell. “I’m not agreeing with you, but I’ll think about it,” he finally said.   
  
“Good.”   
  
They remained silent, sitting together for a while; Hermione felt better just to have him there with her.   
  
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Draco finally spoke, but she thought it had probably been at least a couple of hours.   
  
“My shift is almost over,” he said regretfully.   
  
“Alright,” Hermione said numbly. She wasn’t ready for him to leave.

 

“It’s Goyle who comes in after me. He probably won’t even come back here.”  
  
“Okay.”   
  
“You’re going to be alright, Hermione. I’ll be back in four hours.” Draco put his hand on her knee, squeezing lightly, likely trying to reassure her. It didn’t work.   


He stood, and walked toward the door, only to turn back and whisper, “I hate leaving you here.”  
  
“Probably not as much as I hate being here,” she said, chuckling bitterly.   
  
He didn’t say anything, just sighed deeply, shut the door, and walked away. Hermione was alone again. It felt even more alone than before, somehow. Knowing that Draco was here at least settled her nerves marginally, but she was still filled with fear. Bellatrix was here. All the Death Eaters were here. Bloody You-Know-Who was _here_ . And the only plan to get her out— that she knew of— was to wait it out, lie to the darkest wizard of all time, and then pretend to be on the wrong side of history.   
  
Well, that wasn’t happening. She’d just have to wait for Harry to come rescue her. He had to come. He had to.

  


xXxXxXx

  
  



	24. Heathen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** I can't express enough how wonderful you all are! I am constantly blown away by the response I am getting, and totally in love with each and every one of you who reads, and reviews this story! Thank you so so much!  
>  xoxo, L

 

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

**Heathen**

  
  


As Draco predicted, Goyle didn’t come to her cell at all. So for four hours, Hermione sat in silence, waiting. It was the first time she’d been alone— conscious at least— since she’d been brought here. It was unsettling. Having spent nearly every waking— and sleeping— moment of the last four months with Harry, the isolation was not exactly welcome.    
  
Hermione bit her lip, wringing her hands together. She wanted to be pacing. Pacing always seemed to help her think through a tough problem. Her body, however, was content to stay still; to not disturb her various wounds. So she sat, fidgeting her hands, and trying to find a way out of this.    
  
Draco’s plan was insane. It would never work. Did he really think that You-Know-Who and all the Death Eaters would just believe she had switched sides? They would see it as the trick that it was right away; that she was just trying to save her skin. No. It simply wouldn’t work. It was better if she was just mostly forgotten down here. That was what she hoped for. That they would leave her alone. Alone was safe. Alone meant not being tortured.    
  
So as far as Hermione was concerned,  _ that _ was the plan. To wait. Harry would come get her. She knew he would. It was just a matter of time.    
  
Hermione straightened slightly, feeling better now that  _ she _ had a plan. Sighing deeply, she let her head fall back onto the stone wall behind her, and closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep; she could at least rest her eyes for a bit.    
  
That lasted maybe ten minutes. 

 

_ Resting _ was not something she was good at. Especially when she didn’t have any books to read while doing so. Hermione suddenly felt like doing anything  _ but _ resting. Her body was sore, yes, but her mind was reeling. She had been captured by Death Eaters, and they  _ hadn’t _ killed her. Instead, they had thrown her in a cell for who knows what purpose. She had been tortured for fun, and she had been tortured for information. She had met her  _ father _ , for Merlin’s sake! She was overwhelmed and under-stimulated in this dark cell, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She desperately wished for a watch at least, so she could know what time it was. How long she would have to wait for Draco to come back.    
  
She found that while it was depressing, she was incredibly glad to have been caught on Christmas because it meant that Draco was here. He might have the world’s worst plan of escape, but at least he was a friend in a sea of enemies. At least he was trying.    
  
Hermione groaned at her next thought, and whispered to herself, “Eight days.”    
  
She had eight days until he was meant to go back to Hogwarts. Eight days until she would be alone here. That was— well that was going to suck. She would have to come up with some way to not lose her mind down here. Maybe Draco could sneak her some books, or...or something, anything to keep her mind busy. Except… there was no light. She doubted her eyes would adjust well enough to the dark that she would be able to see words on a page clearly. No, books apparently weren’t going to be an option, even if she did convince Draco to bring her some.    
  
Groaning again, Hermione started counting. She needed something to keep her mind from going back to her situation. Back to the torture. So she counted.    
  
1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 

 

 _What the bloody hell, Hermione!?_ _Counting?_ UGH. Counting was not going to keep her mind occupied! No, counting would not work. But maybe, maybe something along those lines…   
  
Hermione began a mental list of every spell she knew. Alphabetised. _That_ would keep her busy, for now at least. She listed the spell, its use, and the movement required to cast it. Every time she thought of a spell she had forgotten to add, she would start back at the beginning, listing them all over again. It was tedious and perfect. For now.   
  
She was at _Titillando_ — the Tickling Hex— when she heard footsteps in the hallway. She sat up abruptly, her back straight against the wall, heart pounding.   
  
The footsteps slowed, and Hermione held her breath. 

  
“It’s me,” Draco said.   
  
Hermione immediately let the breath whoosh from her lungs, as the tension left her body. _Thank Merlin._   
  
“Hi,” she said, watching as he opened the door and slipped inside.   
  
“Hi. I brought you a few things. They’ll likely be a bit big, and I didn’t have, well I just thought…” he trailed off awkwardly, sitting down next to her, his legs extended and crossed at the ankle. He placed a small pile of items Hermione couldn’t quite make out the other side of his body and turned to face her.  
  


“Thank you,” she said, curious as to what he’d brought that made the snarkiest man she’d ever met clam up.   
  
“How are you?” he asked.    
  
Hermione laughed dryly and looked at him. “I just spent the last couple of hours alphabetising every spell I know. So I’m great.”   
  
Draco sighed, running his hands through his hair. “What can I do?”    
  
“Get me out of here.”    
  
“The plan will work Granger, you just have to give it time.”    
  
“Apparently  _ time _ is all I have,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That plan is not going to work Draco. Not only because it’s an awful plan, but because I won’t do it.”

 

“You have to—”    
  
“I don’t have to do anything! I’m telling you it’s a bad plan, why don’t you see that?” she huffed, turning away from him.    
  
“I’m sorry,” he placed a hand on her knee. “I just don’t know what else to do here, Granger.”   
  
Hermione sighed at the quiet admission, looking back at him. “It’s fine. We’ll just have to come up with something else. Or just wait for Harry and the Order to figure something out.”    
  
“I don’t think the Order is going to be able to do anything, Hermione. There is no way they can even get past the wards surrounding the Manor, not to mention the Death Eaters inside. It would be a suicide mission.”    
  
“They will think of something,” Hermione said, a little less confidently.    
  
“Alright.”    
  
The two sat in silence for a while, unsure of what to say. There wasn’t anything that  _ could _ be said to make the situation better. As the silence stretched out, Hermione yawned, realising she was quite tired. It would take her ages to relax enough to sleep on her own— decently, at least. While on the run, she had thought that it was simply Harry that she had grown accustomed to sleeping with, but after the short time she’d been held prisoner, she knew it wasn’t just Harry she was used to. She couldn’t sleep alone, period.    
  
“Draco, do you— do you mind if I um…  nap?” she asked, unsure of what his reaction would be.   
  
Seeming to draw him out of his thoughts, he responded awkwardly. “Hm? Nap? Um, alright. I can go if you want—”

 

“No!” she tensed, speaking louder than she had meant to. “No, I mean, while you’re here? It’s just— I can’t sleep when I’m alone… Harry and I- we… I just can’t sleep alone.” she finished quietly, suddenly embarrassed.    
  
“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” he shrugged, patting his thigh. “Lay down.”    
  
“Oh, it’s alright. I can just use the blanket as a pillow.”   
  
“Come here, Hermione,” he said, patting his leg again. It was not a question.   
  


Hermione looked at him for a moment— deliberating— until tiredness got the better of her. She tilted her body until her head landed gently in his lap. 

  
She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, but her heart was racing. She suddenly wasn’t sure if she’d be able to sleep like this, her head in his lap.  _ How in the world was she struggling with a  _ crush _ , when she was literally in a prison cell. Get it together, Hermione!  _ Just as she was about to give up on the idea of getting any sleep, and sit back up, she felt Draco’s hand run over her hair.    
  
“I can practically hear you thinking, Granger. Go to sleep,” He murmured quietly, as he continued to run a soothing hand over her hair. Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks, and was glad for the darkness.    
  
His hand was relaxing, though, and Hermione was able to let go of her tension, almost melting into his lap, and close her eyes. It wasn’t long before sleep was eminent, and she welcomed it.   
  


 

xXxXxXx

  
  


When Hermione woke up, she was beyond disappointed to find herself alone. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. The blanket was pulled over her body, and her head was laying on something soft. She pushed herself up to sitting and grabbed the item she had been using as a pillow. Draco must have left it because she hadn’t seen it before. Holding it out in front of her, it only took Hermione a moment to discover what it was. A jumper.   
  
A smile crept over her face as she hugged the garment to her. It was soft and lovely, but the thing that caused her smile to grow into an outright grin was the smell. It smelled like parchment and chai, with the tiniest hint of earth; it smelled like Draco.    
  
Hermione buried her face in the jumper for a moment, before she slipped her arms through the sleeves and wrapped herself in it. She sat a moment, enjoying the smallest bit of comfort she had before she remembered the pile of items Draco brought her.    
  
“Oh!” she moved to her knees, reaching for the pile and pulling it into her lap. The darkness prevented her from immediately identifying the items while they were stacked together, but as she took each one in her hands, it was easy to see what he’d brought.    
  
On top was a plastic water bottle, a small tube of muggle toothpaste—  _ where in Merlin’s name did he get that? _ — and a toothbrush.    
  
“Thank the gods,” she said, smiling. Her mouth felt like a band of cotton bunnies had set up camp in it. Disgusting.    
  
She gingerly placed those items aside and pulled the next one up. She quickly identified it as sweatpants. The softest, most expensive feeling sweatpants she had ever felt, but sweatpants nonetheless. She would finally be able to change out of her disgusting jeans.   
  
The next item confused her for a moment, and once she figured out what it was, caused a deep blush to creep up her neck and settle on her cheeks.    
  
Boxers. He had brought her boxers.    
  
_ That must have been why he was so awkward earlier, _ she thought. Fingering the cotton material, Hermione wondered for a moment about the boxers, before embarrassment had her pushing the thoughts from her mind. She didn’t have to think about where they came from; it was better to just appreciate the fact that she had clean knickers again.    
  
The last item in the pile was another blanket. This one much softer than the scratchy wool one that had been in her cell. Even in the dark, she could tell it was quite likely the nicest blanket he had ever laid hands on. Hermione shook her head— only Draco would think it appropriate to have such expensive things in a bloody jail cell.   
  
Finding herself immensely grateful, Hermione stood slowly, stretching her sore muscles. She slid her hands up across her arms, and grimaced; they were crusted with blood. She paused for a moment, listening for any sounds coming from down the hallway. When she decided it was clear, Hermione pulled the t-shirt off and shimmied her pants down. She reached for the water bottle, hoping Draco wouldn’t have a problem bringing her another one.    
  
Uncapping the bottle, Hermione walked to the far corner of her cell— which honestly wasn’t that  _ far _ away, but she didn’t want her sleeping area wet. She hoped the floors weren’t sloped. Tipping the bottle, she poured a bit of water into her cupped hand, and splashed it up her arm, rubbing to get the blood and dirt off. She repeated the action several times until she figured it was as good as it was going to get. Hermione moved to her other arm, giving it the same treatment as the first. When she had finished, she held the bottle out, trying to decide if she wanted to save the water, or just finish up cleaning her body as best she could.    
  
Narrowing her eyes, Hermione examined the water bottle curiously. No water was missing. She brought it to her mouth, taking a large gulp, and examined it again. Still full.    
  
_ You genius boy! _ She thought, smiling to herself. He had charmed the bottle to fill itself! Hermione gleefully held the bottle, smiling. “Thank you, Draco,” she whispered.    
  
After stripping herself of her bra and knickers, Hermione did her best to cleanse the rest of her body of the grime. Her breath hitched as her hands ran over her side, discovering the raised, tender skin there.  _ Bella’s curse. _ She tried to ignore it, what was another scar anyway? She unexpectedly became grateful for Finn, which was a disgusting feeling. But he promised not to leave any scars, and it appeared he had kept his word. The only other wound she found was the one on her back, again from Bella.    
  
When she had done her best to clean up, Hermione replaced the t-shirt, hoping it hadn’t got too dirty from her wearing it earlier. She walked over to the small pile of items, and pulled out the boxers, slipping them on.    
  
They were weird. So loose it made her feel as though she still weren’t wearing knickers at all, and the elastic band meant to hold them up just fell off her hips. Hermione furrowed her brows. She was smaller than Draco, yes, but she must have lost more weight than she realised— these shouldn’t be  _ this _ big on her.    
  
Resolving to ask him to either find her a safety pin or magic the waistband smaller, she pulled on the sweatpants and sighed deeply.    
  
_ Clean clothes. _ They honestly made her feel human again. Like things were looking up. Which was ridiculous. A pair of borrowed boxers and fancy sweatpants really wasn’t anything more than a comfort, but  _ Merlin _ had she needed a comfort. 

 

Hermione slipped the sweater back on, pulling the collar up to her face and inhaling deeply. She was fully enveloped in Draco’s scent, and while she wouldn’t admit it out loud, she loved it.   
  
It turns out blanket was even more lovely when it was wrapped around her shoulders so she sat, enjoying its cozy warmth. Hermione had her eyes closed, pretending she was anywhere but where she was when she heard footsteps approaching. She was almost positive it couldn’t be Draco— she hadn’t slept for  _ that _ long— so she steeled herself, preparing for anyone.    
  
When the footsteps stopped, and a figure appeared at the door, Hermione internally sighed in relief, before scolding herself for feeling like she could let her guard down. She was a prisoner, in a cell, captured by  _ Death Eaters _ , she could never let her guard down!    
  
“Hermione.” 

 

“Rodolphus.”    
  
He crouched down, levelling his height with hers, “Are you okay?”    
  
“Brilliant,” Hermione replied cooly.    
  
“I mean— I know they healed you, but did they feed you? Do you need anything?” There was concern lacing his voice, and Hermione didn’t know how to feel about that.    
  
“They fed me. If you really want to do something for me, get me out of here,” she said, surprised at the hard edge to her voice. Apparently even locked up and wandless she still had moxie.   
  
“I’m working on it, really I am. I have a plan. I— it will be alright.” 

 

_ Great. Another person with a plan. _ Hermione pursed her lips, waiting for him to either say more or leave. She didn’t have the emotional strength to have this conversation right now.    
  
“I want to get to know you, Hermione. I want to— I’m going to make up for it. For leaving you,” he said gently.    
  
“From my perspective, you don’t have anything to make up for,” she said coldly. “You gave me to a wonderful family, far away from the disgusting prejudices and downright evilness of your own home, and let me be. I couldn’t have asked for more.”    
  
“You’re angry. I understand that. It’s alright.” 

 

“I’m not angry. I’m grateful that I didn’t have to be raised by psychopathic murderers,” she spat.    
  
“Alright, well— alright,” Rodolphus said, standing. “I’ll come check on you again soon. I really am going to get you out of here.”    
  
Hermione watched him walk away, and felt as though venom was dripping from her mouth. The man caused her blood to boil. Did he really think she’d have been better off growing up with him? With Bellatrix? What an incredibly insane thought. Hermione shook her head, disgusted.    
  
She stood up and began pacing.  _ What did people  _ do _ in jail? How did they deal with this nothingness?? _ The sudden urge to scream was almost overpowering. This cell was too small. She needed to get out, she couldn’t just sit here and wait!    
  
She gave up and lete out a loud, exaggerated mix between a groan and a scream.  _ What in the bloody hell was she going to do?! _  She pulled her hair out of its elastic, and began to run her fingers through her curls, only to stop not far from the roots; her hair was far too tangled to get her fingers through it. Resigned, she pulled it all back again, wrapping the elastic around the disaster of a bun.    
  
Sighing, Hermione was about to sit down when she heard a quiet footfall. She immediately froze, waiting to see who was coming, but nothing happened. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground, heart thudding. After five minutes of strained listening, and hearing nothing, Hermione thought she must have imagined the sound.    
  


xXxXxXx

  
  


Draco was sitting at the small table in the corner of the kitchen, nursing a strong coffee and staring at the morning fog out the window, his mind wandering. He had been going over every possible way to get Hermione out of the Manor, but nothing was going to work. The  _ only _ thing that seemed at least possible was what his mother had suggested. And that wasn’t even a guaranteed thing— not that he’d tell Hermione that.    
  
The plan would hinge on her participation; if she wouldn’t go along with it, the plan was nothing. She  _ had _ to pretend to leave the Order. She had to join the Dark Lord, and she had to play the part bloody well, or someone would see its falseness.  _ Fucking hell _ , if this didn’t work, Draco wasn’t sure what to do.    
  
He slammed his palm down on the table in frustration, his coffee sloshing from the cup.    
  
“Dammit!” he hissed, pushing the chair back before the liquid could spill from the table to his trousers.    
  
“Easy there, mate,” someone said, chuckling.    
  
“Fuck off, Rowle,” Draco replied, scowling over his shoulder at the man walking toward him.    
  
“Calm your tits, Malfoy. What’s got your wand in a knot?” Rowle vanished the mess on the table with a wave of his wand, and pulled out a chair. He took a seat, kicking his heels up onto the table.    
  
“If my mother sees you with your shoes on her table, she’s going hex your balls off,” Draco said, relaxing back into his own chair.    
  
“She just wants me,” Rowle smirked, leaning back slightly and clasping his hands behind his head cockily. 

 

“Shut the fuck up you disgusting prick!” Draco spat, making to stand up.    
  
“Alright, alright! I’ll be nice! Calm down, man. Seriously, what has you so wound up? I’m the one who had to torture a girl yesterday, you should be lacing  _ my  _ drink with firewhisky.” Rowle said the last bit quietly, almost to himself, as he reached inside of his robes and pulled out a small flask. He opened it and poured a good splash into Draco’s cup.   
  
Draco scowled but picked up his coffee. “Thanks,” he said reluctantly, taking a sip.    
  
“So?”    
  
Draco remained silent. He hadn’t quite decided what he could trust Rowle with yet. They were friends— even though the man could be an insufferable, childish twat— but he wasn’t sure quite how deep Rowle’s loyalties were. It wasn’t exactly something you could ask someone;  _ ‘Hey, are you  _ really _ supportive of the Dark Lord, or are you just here so you won’t get killed?’.  _ At least not if you wanted to preserve your life. While he knew the man didn’t have anywhere near the same level of commitment as Bellatrix, Rodolphus, or even Draco’s own father, he still wasn’t sure he was ready to trust Hermione’s life with him. 

 

“It’s just been a long Holiday,” Draco said, sighing. “What are you doing tonight?”    
  
Rowle made a face, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t know, no plans.”    
  
“Come to my room. I’ve got a 150-year-old bottle of firewhisky and I need someone to drink it with. I guarantee it’s better than whatever you’ve got.”    
  


Rowle considered him for a moment. He pulled out his flask again and took a long drink. Placing it back in his robes, he smirked. “Anything’s better than this shit, Malfoy.”

 

  
xXxXxXx

  
  


Hermione was tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well in months, and now it felt like she wasn’t sleeping at all. Her body just couldn’t relax enough to get to sleep; she was on edge every minute waiting for something bad to happen— every moment that she wasn’t with Draco, that was. He calmed her, and she felt at least mostly safe when he was there with her.   
  
Absently picking at the dirt underneath her fingernails, Hermione wondered for the millionth time what Harry was doing, and hoping he was safe. She knew he hadn’t been caught by the Death Eaters, and assumed that he would just make his way back to the Order now. At least she hoped that’s what he’d done. He couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to try finding the rest of the Horcruxes on his own.   
  
_Please don’t be that stupid, Harry._   
  
Hermione straightened up when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Pushing her back against the wall, her heart pounding, she waited to see who it would be, praying it was Draco.   
  
“It’s me,” a familiar voice said.   
  
_Thank the gods!_ Hermione thought. She relaxed a little, waiting for him to come into the cell.   
  
“Hey,” she said quietly once he had stepped through the door.   
  
“Hi.” Draco walked over to where she was sitting, neatly dropped onto his haunches, and held out a small plate to her. It was piled high with eggs, sausage, and fruit.   
  
“Thank you!” Hermione exclaimed, taking the plate from him as Draco sat down next to her. “No one else brings food. I don’t know what I’m going to do when you go,” she said, eating one of the sausages.   
  
“Well, I _might_ have a solution… but I’m not certain yet. I have a friend, and I think he might be willing to help,” Draco said. The uncertainty in his voice made Hermione nervous. 

 

“Might? That doesn’t sound very promising,” she said. “I’m not sure trusting Death Eaters is the best plan.” 

 

“Technically, I’m a Death Eater, and you trust me. Anyways, I’m going to find out if I can, in fact, trust him, and I’ll get back to you on that,” he chuckled, watching her eat another sausage. 

 

They sat in silence as Hermione finished what she could of the breakfast. She ended up eating a few bites of the eggs, one more sausage, and a couple pieces of the fruit before she was full. Holding the plate out a little, Hermione looked up at Draco.    
  
“Do you think you could just place a warming charm on this? That way I can eat it later?”    
  
Draco pulled out his wand, casting the charm, and then took the plate from Hermione, setting it to his side.    
  
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Oh, and thank you for the clothes and water! That was sort of brilliant, what you did!”    
  
“We’re not all as daft as the Weasel, Granger,” he responded, grinning as he did.    
  
“I’m going to ignore that comment. Anyway, I was hoping maybe you knew some tailoring charms? Everything’s a bit… big,” she shrugged.    
  
Draco rolled his eyes, but stood up, reaching a hand down to her. “Of course I know tailoring charms, I’m not some heathen. Come, stand up and I’ll adjust them.”    
  
Hermione let him help her up, and stood to face him, momentarily unsure. He hadn’t let go of her hand, and as the seconds stretched on she tried her best not to let the heat rise to her face. He finally dropped her hand, and she quickly began fiddling with the hem of the shirt. She was awkwardly quiet for a moment, before realising she was the one who needed to say something.    
  
“Um, so the shirt is actually fine, I sort of prefer it baggy like this. But these,” she wiggled her other hand which was holding up the sweatpants, “these are about to fall off, and the um… well, the… the shorts are quite big as well,” she finally managed, and felt her face turn beat red.    
  
“Sorry, I didn’t have time to find anything that was… well, ladies’ garments,” Draco said quietly.    
  
“Oh, no no it’s fine, I really appreciate anything at all, honestly! I just— everything is going to fall off,” she said, unable to hold back her giggles.    
  
Draco smirked, teasing her. “Well if you weren’t so bloody thin, maybe that wouldn’t be such a problem.” 

 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t have a chance to stuff my face when I was wandering the forests with Harry,” she snarked, rolling her eyes at him. “You know, foraging for mushrooms probably burns more calories than the damn mushrooms even have in the first place.”    
  
Draco held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Don’t make me feel bad Granger. Now, are we going to get these fixed up or just let them fall off of you?” He winked at her, and the blush immediately returned to her cheeks.    
  
Clearing her throat, Hermione held the waistband out a little, “Let’s do the, uh,” she held the band of the boxers out a little, “let’s do these first,” she finished, embarrassed. Draco pointed his wand at it the garment, and Hermione felt the band shrink until it was perfectly snug around her waist and she was able to let it go without fear of it plummeting to her feet. He then repeated the action for the sweatpants, and Hermione was able to let those go as well.    
  
“Thank you,” she smiled.    
  
“Wouldn’t want you walking around indecently or anything.” He smirked at her, chuckling.    
  
“Oh, because so many people would see me.” she scoffed, settling back down onto the floor.    
  
Draco made a sort of noise, somewhere between a grunt and throat clearing, and sat down next to her.    
  
Hermione involuntarily yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I don’t sleep well,” she apologised, unable to stifle the yawn. “At all, really.”    
  
She looked over at Draco, and he frowned sadly at her. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”    
  
“I can forgive you if you let me nap while you’re here. I find— well, I can sleep if you’re here,” she finished shyly, avoiding his gaze.    
  
Draco smiled and patted his leg. “Here,” he said kindly. 

  
Hermione placed her head in his lap, sighing deeply when his hand began to stroke her hair. It was more comforting than it had any right to be, and she would probably scold herself later, but for now, she just wanted to sleep. 

 

  
xXxXxXx

 


	25. A Wizard's Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:**  I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** I am seriously floored by you wonderful readers! I cannot believe the amount of love this story gets, and it blows me away and makes me so so happy! Sending so much love to you all! Enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

**A Wizard's Promise**

Draco was sitting at the little table in his room scowling, his glass of firewhisky in front of him. He knew that Rowle was with Hermione—or at least in the cells—and he fucking hated that. Hermione had told him that no one else, aside from Rodolphus, had come to her yet, which Draco thought was rather lucky.

He was still pissed off that he couldn't think of anything better, more solid, to get her out of there, and she was content to just wait for fucking Saint Potty to come save her. Fat fucking chance of that. She had no clue the kind of wards that were surrounding the manor, and the sheer amount of Death Eaters here—they'd need to send the whole fucking Order if they were going to even stand a chance. Not to mention the Dark Lord was here. So no, some poorly thought out rescue plan by Potter was not going to fix this.

She was so fucking stubborn! Draco took a sip of his firewhisky, trying to pace himself. If he was going to figure Rowle out tonight, he needed to stay mostly sober. He figured if he could get a few drinks in the man, he'd become tipsy enough that he wouldn't notice a low dose of Veritaserum, and Draco could slyly determine exactly where his loyalties lie. But first, he had to wait for him to fucking show up.

It wasn't until ten past nine that a knock sounded on his door. Draco lifted his wand, opening the door with magic. Rowle strutted in, casually shutting the door behind him.

"Evening," he said, a smirk playing under his raised eyebrows. "Started without me?"

"I didn't know how long you'd be, I wasn't going to sit here just staring at the bloody bottle," Draco said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "I'll pour you a glass."

Rowle sat, accepting the firewhisky Draco offered. He nodded once, bringing it to his mouth and took a sip. His lips pursed as he lowered the glass to the table and met Draco's eyes. "Fuck, you were right. This shit is amazing."

Draco chuckled, sipping his own portion. "Told you," he said smugly, watching as Rowle took another large drink.

"So you've got what, five days until you're back to Hogwarts?"

"Six," Draco replied.

"Lucky you," Rowle said under his breath.

Draco raised his glass, silently toasting the sentiment before lifting it to his lips. He was glad his tolerance for alcohol had grown over the last year. It meant he didn't have to be overly cautious about not getting drunk.

Silence fell between them, as each sipped at their drinks, enjoying the aged alcohol. After a bit, Draco reached out to the bottle, refilling their glasses.

"How is she?" he asked, hoping he sounded indifferent.

Rowle eyed him for a moment, as if considering his motives before he spoke. "Seems fine. I haven't spoken to her, but I do check on her when I'm down there." He shrugged, taking another sip and holding eye contact with Draco for a moment, letting the silence grow heavy between them. "I hate that I'm the one he always calls to do the torture."

"Shouldn't have let him figure out how good you are at Legilimency," Draco said.

"Yeah, good luck hiding that kind of thing from him." Rowle rolled his eyes.

Draco tried not to look smug as he took another sip. Good luck indeed, he thought. So far he had been hiding it quite well. Granted, the Dark Lord did know that he had some skill in the area, but he had no clue that Draco was as advanced in the subject as he was. Hopefully it would stay that way.

"So you don't enjoy it then?" he asked, hoping to gauge how much the alcohol was affecting his friend by his reaction to a question Draco knew grated him.

"The fuck, Malfoy? You know I don't enjoy that shit! I fucking hate it. What's wrong with you?" Rowle spat.

Draco raised his hands in surrender. "Just asking," he said.

"No, I fucking don't enjoy it," he sneered, "especially when it's just some… some girl."

"I know her, you know."

"I figured you did. Better than just school acquaintances, if you ask me," Rowle smirked.

"We've been classmates for six years, so yeah, I sort of know her." Draco shrugged, trying for nonchalance as he picked up his glass. He took another swig, finishing off the amber liquid. Reaching for the bottle again, he purposefully brought it back a little roughly, making sure to knock Rowles glass onto the floor.

"Shit! Sorry!" he said quickly. "Fuck, I wasn't paying attention."

Rowle chuckled, looking down at the broken glass on the floor. "Good thing I already drank it, otherwise that would have been alcohol abuse."

Draco let out a slight laugh and vanished the glass on the floor with a flick of his wand. He stood and walked to the liquor cabinet along the wall, smirking to himself while his back was turned. He picked up the glass that he had already set out earlier that night—containing just a few drops of Veritaserum in the bottom—and walked back to the table. Picking up the bottle of firewhisky, he filled the new glass, setting it down in front of Rowle with an apologetic grin.

"Sorry about that," he said, taking his seat again. "Where were we?"

"You were just about to tell me of your undying love for the girl locked up in your basement," Rowle snickered, taking a sip of his drink.

Draco watched him for a moment, heart pounding as he waited to see if his plan would work. When Rowle simply placed his glass back on the table, waiting for a response, Draco felt relief flood him. Shaking his head, he raised his eyebrows. "You seem to be quite interested in her, Rowle."

"She happens to be quite the interesting girl," he shrugged.

"Oh yeah, because loads of people torture someone, and decide they want to become friends after."

"I thought she was interesting before the torture, thank you very much," Rowle said, rolling his eyes.

Draco raised his eyebrows incredulously.

"I went to school with her, too, you twat. She was a bit of a know-it-all, but you can't deny her brilliance, and after seeing her—well, I find I'd like to know more," he said, drinking deeply.

"That's kind of sick, you know."

"What? I can't fancy learning a bit more about a witch who is clearly not what she seems?" Rowle asked.

"How do you plan on learning more about her? She's stuck in a fucking cell." Draco watched the man take another sip before answering.

"She won't be in there forever," he said confidently.

"Do you know something?" Draco asked a little too eagerly.

"No." Rowle shrugged. "But she's too brilliant for the Dark Lord to just let her rot away. Plus, Rodolphus will be doing whatever he can to get her out, too. My guess is she'll be out before you're back for Easter hols."

"You think he's just going to let her go? She's Potter's… whatever it is she is to him. The Dark Lord is not going to ignore that."

"I have a feeling—" he paused, seeming to roll the words around his mouth before speaking again. "I have a feeling that he has high hopes for her usefulness, and won't care in what form that comes. Compliance by persuasion is still compliance to him," he finished, taking another drink.

"You don't think he'd Imperius her?" Draco asked, disgusted.

"No, he wouldn't. He doesn't care about her that much. But I think Rodolphus would. If it was that, or let her die." Rowle drew down the corners of his mouth and shrugged.

"That's despicable," Draco whispered, nauseated. To see someone as strong and independent as Hermione reduced to the nothingness of an Imperius was not a welcome thought.

"I don't think it will happen, though." Rowle shook his head.

"Oh?"

"Nah, that girl is far too good an Occlumens to be controlled by an Imperius. At least mentally. There is no way she'd let all her secrets out. Plus, like I said, I think she will be out of that cell by Easter anyway."

"And how is that going to work then?" Draco asked, confused by Rowle's assurance.

"Well," he said, cockily taking a sip from his tumbler. "You obviously have a plan, otherwise you wouldn't have drugged my glass with Veritaserum and tried to trick whatever information it is you're trying to obtain out of me."

"Wha—"

"You can drop the act, Malfoy. I know what Veritaserum feels like, even after a fair amount of firewhisky— which is delicious, by the way. Whatever you're playing at, you've got more information than you're letting on. So," he paused, eying Draco and smirking wickedly, "are you shagging her then?"

Draco sputtered, nearly spitting out the firewhisky he had just sipped. "What?!"

"Ahh, alright. So you just want to be shagging her," he grinned.

"What are you talking about Rowle? Why would you say that?" Draco said, his voice a little louder than he intended.

"I saw your face when you saw her that first night—when I brought her in. That wasn't the face of someone seeing an old schoolmate. You were genuinely afraid for her. It was painfully obvious. You're just lucky that I was the one to bring her down. Plus, I know you spend your whole shift in that cell with her." Rowle shrugged, as if the information was almost boring.

"How in the world would you know that," Draco asked dryly.

"Oh come off it, Malfoy. I know you cast that stupid alarm spell on the stairs. So I just stood at the top and cast a little Homenum Revelio, and voila," he said smugly, raising his hands in front of himself and shrugging slightly.

"What the fuck, Rowle? You're spying on me now, you fucker?" Draco spat, angry and nervous. What was his angle? Why had he done that?

Rowle just shrugged, sipping his glass again. Draco stared at him incredulously, as shock and worry ate at his chest.

"I don't care, you know," he finally said, setting his now empty glass on the table in front of him.

Draco raised his eyebrows, eyes wide.

"Honestly. Before you tried to drug me, I had been planning on getting you drunk enough to ask if you'd tell her that I'm a friend, and she could trust me."

"A frien— you do realise that you tortured her, right? Friends don't torture each other," Draco spat.

"How many times have we had to endure a crucio at each others' wand then, Draco? Are we not still friends?"

"That's different! We didn't have a choice, and we both knew it."

"And you think I had a choice? When the Dark Lord tells you to do something, you do it or you die. You know that. You also know that if it had been anyone else, it would have been much worse for her. So shut the fuck up and tell me what the hell is going on," Rowle demanded, fixing Draco with a hard stare.

Draco sat for a moment, running his hands down his face in frustration. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. He realised now that this had likely not been the best way to go about it, but at the time it had seemed easier than just outright asking the man. Plus, if he'd been wrong, well, he'd have been dead by morning. But fuck, now what did he do? Tell him the plan? Would he help? Maybe. Maybe this could be good. He could use someone else, someone besides his mother. As much pull as she may have, she isn't a Death Eater. She could only do so much from her position. Having Rowle help, having someone on the inside while he was gone at school, that could be—it would be good. He would be able to keep an eye on her.

"I need a Wizard's Promise first," Draco reluctantly said.

"Let's get it over with, then." Rowle agreed, holding out his arm.

Draco grasped his wrist, and Rowle did the same, interlocking the two. Raising his wand, Draco waved it over their joined hands, watching subtle sparks surround them.

"Thorfinn Rowle, I need you to promise to keep what I'm about to tell you, and all of its implications, to yourself—keeping it secret. I need your promise to put Hermione Granger-Lestrange's safety above all else. Do you promise?"

"On my magic, I promise this," Rowle agreed.

A thin, rope-like light emitted from Draco's wand, wrapping itself around their wrists once, before disappearing with a light pop.

Satisfied, Draco dropped his grip, sitting back in his chair. A Wizard's Promise wasn't deadly like an Unbreakable Vow, but it would fuck with his magic if he broke it, and that was definitely something Rowle couldn't afford. He really hoped he was making the right decision, telling him, but at this point, there was no turning back. Draco took a brief moment to think through what he would tell Rowle, twisting the facts just enough that the man would understand the situation, without being privy to all the details.

"I was being honest when I said we've been in classes together for a long time. But last year, we started meeting up, outside of class. Just studying our lessons at first. But eventually, she asked me to teach her Occlumency…"

xXxXxXx

It was just past one in the morning when Rowle left his room. Draco was bone tired, but feeling a little relieved. Rowle had listened patiently as he explained his relationship with Hermione, obviously skipping anything to do with the Order. In the end, Draco had told him that they studied together, and eventually formed a friendship. Then she disappeared during the summer, and this was the first he'd seen her since. Draco had also left out the fact that he liked her more than just as friends. It wasn't that he didn't trust Rowle with that information, because he obviously trusted the man at this point—he just didn't want him to say anything to Hermione before Draco himself had a chance to figure it out. So he had been adamant that they were friends, plain and simple.

Rowle had suggested that once Narcissa played her cards and Hermione was out of the cells, he could work with her on her dark magic. Get her used to it being used on her, as well as using it herself. He made a point that Draco hadn't considered, though he ended up agreeing with wholeheartedly: Hermione wasn't the type of girl to be satisfied with becoming a 'Pureblood lady'. If she were to fully accept the part she would need to play, Draco had no doubt she would be unappeased sitting on the sidelines. No, she would want to be right in on the action. And while that thought had Draco's stomach in knots, he figured that it would be better for her to learn from Rowle everything she could, rather than just going at it with her bloody Expelliarmus and Stupefy. No, she would need to learn darker curses if she wanted to have a fighting chance among the Death Eaters.

Draco poured himself another tumbler of firewhisky, and downed it in one long gulp. He hated that this was really her only option now. Even if she agreed—which would be a bloody miracle—he knew it would eat her up inside. She was too good for this; her heart was too kind, too pure. But fuck if he'd let her just rot away in a cell. He would convince her, and his mother would train her to be a proper Pureblood witch, and Rowle would help her learn the darker magics she would need, and hopefully- hopefully, it would be enough to trick everyone.

He walked to his bed, pitching himself face first into the mass of blankets, and kicked off his shoes. Draco didn't even take his clothes off before he fell asleep, worry and fear staining his dreams again that night.

xXxXxXx

"We've got nearly all our pawns placed inside the Ministry, my Lord," Rabastan said, as he cut into his steak and took a bite.

"Excellent. I believe we are well on our way then, to bringing the wizarding world to its knees," Voldemort responded, smiling.

Narcissa sat with her hands in her lap, as Lucius served her. She smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly at her husband. He gently squeezed her knee and turned his attentions back to the conversation at the table.

"Now, what about Potter?" Voldemort asked, eating his own steak.

"We believe he will have gone back to the Order, but are unsure at the moment where that might be. Severus has Hogwarts locked down; if he goes there for help he will be found out right away." Rabastan said.

"This wouldn't be a problem, Bella dear, if you hadn't failed to bring him in," Voldemort said, his tone only lightly scolding, though everyone at the table knew he was quite displeased.

"I am sorry my lord. The mudblood—"

"When are you going to stop this, Bella?" Rodolphus turned to his wife, cheeks reddening with anger. "She is my daughter, and you know that!"

"Now, now Bella," Voldemort said as if he were talking to a child. "We have been blessed with another Pureblood witch. Is that not a good thing?"

"Well, yes my Lord, but—"

"Is that not what we want in this world? More Purebloods?"

"It is, my Lord, yes. However, I just think this particular—"

"Do you not think her lineage is suitable?"

"Of course it's suitable, but she's—" Bella said, exasperated.

"I don't see the problem then," Voldemort responded, taking a sip of his water.

"She's not on our side!" Bella screeched, slamming her palms onto the table as she stood up, her chair falling backwards with the movement.

There was a stunned silence around the table as everyone waited for the Dark Lord's reaction. He brought his napkin to his face, dabbing it slightly before placing it back into his lap.

"You may excuse yourself, Bella," he said, without looking at her. "Rodolphus, we do need to talk about what we are going to do with her."

Bellatrix slowly backed away from the table, sending a seething glare at each member still seated, before turning and stalking off.

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately, making a submissive eye contact with the Dark Lord.

"Yes, Narcissa dear?" He turned to her, smiling.

"My Lord, I have been thinking—"

"Oh, I love it when you do that Narcissa. You are quite a treasure," he purred.

Smiling back, she continued. "It is so very unfortunate that so few children were born during the first war; there are hardly any witches that are our son's ages," she motioned around the table as Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Lucius were nodding their agreement.

The Dark Lord remained silent, though there was a slight gleam in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows, indicating she should continue.

"Wouldn't it be lovely to add even one more Pureblood witch to their pool of choices?" she said dreamily, smiling brightly at the Dark Lord.

"Already matchmaking for Draco, I see." He laughed, folding his hands in front of himself. "That sounds delightful, dear. I see only one problem."

"If you're speaking to her loyalties, My Lord, I believe we can persuade her."

"I'm not sure I agree with you, Narcissa."

"My Lord, I can try and persuade her," Rodolphus said apprehensively. "She must want to know more about her true lineage, her family… but if that doesn't work, I can Imperius her."

"No, no, that won't do Rodolphus," Voldemort chided gently. "To Imperius the body is one thing, but the mind? No, the mind is far too complex to use an Imperius. We would lose access to any information she may have.

"If what Draco has told me of the girl is true, My Lord, she could be coaxed. She is ruled by logic. Once she is informed of our beliefs—our goals—well, it's only logical she agree and join us." Narcissa smiled warmly, her hands held palm up indicating the group as a whole. "Plus, you know I have always yearned for a daughter to teach our customs to."

Voldemort laughed, clapping his hands together. "Oh my, was this just a ploy so that you could dress and spoil a daughter, Narcissa?" He laughed again, smiling at her. "If you can persuade her, then I do believe she would be a lovely addition. I'm still not sure she will be won over, but you may certainly try; maybe Draco will be able to help convince her, since they are schoolmates. Now, Lucius," he said, turning to the blond man and effectively ending that portion of the conversation, "What can you tell me about the project you've been working on?"

Narcissa smiled to herself, squaring her shoulders slightly, and quietly sighing in relief.

xXxXxXx

Hermione had her hand up, practising her wandless magic. It wasn't going well so far, but she had been able to cast a simple summoning spell on the blanket in the cell. Granted, the blanket seemed to move toward her slower than molasses, and it left her panting and sweating, but it was something. She was wiping her brow and desperately wishing for a shower when she heard the footsteps. Her heart rate picked up as her mind raced.

It wasn't Draco, of that she was sure. As they got closer, she heard a distinct clacking, and her stomach dropped. High heels? It was a woman. Shite, Bellatrix. Hermione steeled herself for what was next, hoping that the insane woman would just kill her quickly, and skip the torture. She didn't know if she could handle more torture.

When the footsteps stopped, Hermione could see a faint figure, definitely a woman, standing at the door. Her breathing hitched.

"Hello, Hermione."

xXxXxXx

 


	26. Ecstasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** I feel like I say this every week, but seriously, you guys! I am floored! You are all so amazing! Your comments are everything! I cannot believe between FFN  & A03 I have 260 comments and 450 subscriptions/alerts! THAT IS INSANE! Siriusly! Gah! So much love to you all! **SO, I have two quick notes for ya'll. One is about our favourite snake man: Voldemort here is not nasty non-human snake man. He is still human. Second is that there will be no update the second week of May. I will be on vacation (wahooo!). I just wanted to give an early heads up, so it's not a shock to anyone. Without further ado, enjoy!

 

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

**Ecstasy**

 

Hermione was pacing. She was finally healed enough that her body no longer ached with every move she made, and once she realised that, the pacing began. It hadn't stopped either. It had been days of just sitting, waiting, staring into the darkness and wondering. Now that she could move again, she felt like she could plan. Exercising her legs was jump-starting her mind.

So she paced, and she thought. Six days had passed since she was brought to Malfoy Manor, and this nightmare began. The only way she was able to keep track of time was with Draco's visits. One in the morning, and one in the afternoon. Then she was on her own until the next morning.

Every day that Draco came to her, he tried to talk her into his ridiculous plan, and every day she agreed to disagree with said ridiculous plan. He would give her facts and positive outcomes; she would give him doubts and holes in the logistics. He had even reduced himself to begging the last couple of visits, but she would not be swayed.

When Narcissa herself had shown up a couple nights ago, Hermione had been sure it was Bellatrix, come to finish her off in the seclusion of the dungeons. At Narcissa's calm voice greeting her that night, relief had washed through her body, nearly overwhelming her. After a moment, she was able to shake the feeling, offering a polite "Hello" back. It was awkward being treated so...sophisticatedly, as she sat wearing the woman's son's clothes, in a dirty prison cell.

After asking if there was anything Hermione was in need of or anything she could do for her, Narcissa had squared her shoulders almost imperceptibly and used what Hermione had guessed was her persuasive voice.

 _"Darling, Draco has told me of your reluctance. It's uite silly, if you ask me. We have a plan to help you, all_ you _have to do is go along with it."_

"Mrs Malfoy, I truly appreciate your willingness to help me. Especially when the risks are so high. But I cannot turn my back on the Order, even for a ruse."

"You wouldn't be turning your back, dear. You would simply have to pretend—"

" _I have thought about it, I truly have. But my options here are limited. I will absolutely not let myself be married off and subsequently raped by whatever Death Eater they give me to, in order to save my skin. That leaves me with one other option, in your plan: to convince You-Know-Who so completely of my allegiance to him that he has no doubts whatsoever. In order to do that, I would have to take th mark, and submit myself to him. I would rather die."_

"That may be your only option, darling, if you choose to do nothing," Narcissa said in sombre truth.

"I trust that Harry will find a way to me." Hermione crossed her arms, and Narcissa simply stood, staring at her for a long moment. When she finally spoke again, she sounded sad.

"I do hope you let us help you, Hermione."

She had left without another word, and Hermione spent the rest of the night thinking through their plan all over again. No matter how many twists and tweaks she made to it, there was no path she could take that would let her leave this whole. Married off or marked, either way, darkness would enter her soul.

 

xXxXxXx

 

Draco was sitting at the small table in the kitchen, working his way through his breakfast plate and waiting for his shift in the dungeons to begin. He had two more days to convince Hermione that she _had_ to go along with this plan. He was leaving for Hogwarts in just two days, and she needed to be on board before then.

 _Why was she so fucking stubborn?! How does Potter deal with her?_ He stabbed aggressively at the eggs on his plate as he sneered at himself. For the first time in his life, he was wishing for advice from the bloody chosen one. _What the fuck?_

Grumbling to himself, he hadn't noticed when someone else entered the room and walked to stand next to him. A throat cleared and Draco looked up to see his father standing next to him, impatient as always.

"Father," he said dryly, focusing his attention back on his eggs. There was a time when all Draco had wanted to do was impress the man standing there, but that time was long past. The boy Draco had been grew up into a man who knew the difference between right and wrong, and while he couldn't always _do_ the right thing, he at least felt remorse for his transgressions.

His father, on the other hand, had no such sympathies. The man was heartless and wicked to the core.

"Draco, finish your breakfast. The Dark Lord has need of you," Lucius said cooly, eying his son in distaste.

"Why? What does he want?" Draco asked as he set his fork down, suddenly having lost his appetite.

"I do not question the Dark Lord, son, and you would be wise to follow suit," Lucius spat.

Draco pushed his chair back, standing up and dusting his hands together to hide his nervousness. It didn't matter how many times he met with the man, he would never be desensitised to this terror.

The walk to the ballroom was short, and as Lucius entered the room, Draco wondered exactly what was going on; he was hardly ever called in to see the Dark Lord. His stomach twisted into knots as fear crawled up his spine. _Does he know about Hermione? About the plan?_

He didn't have time to question it any further. As he walked into the room he was greeted with a smile and prayed to Salazar that that was a good sign. The Dark Lord was generally not a hard man to read. He didn't bother hiding his emotions; when you had no qualms about maiming or killing those around you, there really was no need to try for subtlety.

Draco briefly wondered if the man simply glamoured himself, or if he had truly found a spell to stop his ageing, as was the rumour. He didn't look older than 50, and his appearance hadn't changed in all the years Draco had known him: shortly kept dark hair, sharp features, pale skin. He always wore black robes and trousers and had an air of finesse that seemed to swell around him. If you could ignore the fact that he was cloaked in evil, the man wasn't bad looking.

When their eyes met, Draco bowed slightly before clasping his hands behind his back. "My Lord."

"Draco, thank you for coming. I have a special little project for you." Voldemort sat in the throne-like chair at the front of the room.

"Of course, my Lord. What can I do for you?"

"There have been rumours of a safe-house that the Order is using. I want you to find out if they are true."

"Yes, My Lord," Draco said, bowing his head slightly in acquiescence.

"You will leave this afternoon with Mulciber, Travers, and Rabastan. Once you are finished, they will take you directly to Hogwarts."

"Very well, My Lord," Draco said, an icy panic rising in his chest.

"If you do find anyone there," Voldemort said, looking at his hands in front of him as if to check his cuticles, "kill them."

Draco nodded, knowing he had been dismissed and left the room.

He headed straight down to the cells with a cold lump sitting in his chest. Entering the room, he was met with an annoyed Goyle, standing impatiently near the door.

"You're late."

"The Dark Lord asked to see me. If you have a problem, take it up with him," Draco snapped, brushing past Goyle and sitting roughly in the chair.

"Oh shit. Is everything alright?"

"It's fine. Just sending me out on a quick mission."

Goyle nodded, "Alright, see you later then."

"Yeah," Draco said, watching as Goyle left through the door. He gave him a moment to make it to the top of the stairs before setting the alarm spell, and turning toward Hermione's cell. He slowly made his way there; nerves eating him up. This would be the last time he saw her for—who knows how long. He _had_ to convince her to go along with the plan today. This was his last shot.

 

xXxXxXx

 

Hermione sat a little straighter when she heard the footsteps down the hall. She wanted to assume it would be Draco, but she couldn't let her guard down that much. If she got too relaxed, she wouldn't be prepared—and she had to stay prepared—alert. Draco only had two more days before he would go back to school, and she had no idea what would happen to her after that.

His familiar voice echoed quietly into her cell, "It's me."

"Hey." She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face at his arrival.

He walked in, taking a seat beside her without a word, but angled his body slightly to face her. Drawing her knees into her chest, Hermione turned toward him as well, and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her head on the bridge they created. She tucked her toes just under his thigh, comforted by even the smallest contact between them.

Silence.

She eyed him quietly for a moment, a pit forming in her stomach. He wasn't normally this melancholy when he walked in. He reserved it for _after_ she had refused his plan. Hermione nervously wiggled the elastic from her hair, setting her curls free and running a hand through the mess, trying not to imagine the worst. Tugging on a lock near her face, she questioned him. "Draco, what's happened?"

"I got an assignment," he said flatly.

Confused, she furrowed her brow. ". . .Okay? What assignment?"

"It's just a run of the mill check on a lead, something about finding an Order safe house, but—" he ran a frustrated hand down his face, sighing loudly.

"But what?"

"I leave this afternoon." Draco was looking down, not having looked her in the eyes at all yet.

"Okay, well, it could be worse, right?" she asked, unsure why he was taking this so hard. It didn't seem too dangerous, or _bad_ , exactly. What was she missing?

He sighed again, sounding annoyed. "Of course it could be worse."

"Then what's the problem?"

"What's the—?" he didn't finish his question. Instead, he stood up and took several steps from her, his back turned. She could see his fists balled up at his sides.

"Draco, what is going on?" she asked, standing as well. The tension and frustration radiating from him were almost palpable.

"We need to get the details of this plan ironed out, but it's incredibly difficult to do that when you refuse to go along with it!" he growled.

"Oh, that." She said it under her breath, but everything was louder in the silence of the cell, and he spun around to face her, clearly having heard.

"Yes, _that!_ Why won't you accept that this is the only option, Hermione? You are being stubborn and stupid! I need you to do this!" It was the first time he'd yelled at her since their earliest meetings in Hogwarts, and while it had only served to anger her then, this time she felt the sting of hurt bewilderment.

Her brows furrowed, and she took a small step away from him. "I don't know why you're acting like this. You know I can't do that." Her voice was small and trembled slightly.

It was a lie. She did know why he was being like this. Or at least, she could guess. Over the last several months they had developed a strange friendship; knowing someone's secrets, and sharing in them, had a way of bringing people together. She knew he worried about her, just as she worried for him—having to leave her in a cell with only Death Eaters for company was going to do nothing to ease his worry, obviously—but he was being ridiculous and over the top. They both knew she would be relatively safe for now—being a Death Eater's daughter had perks, apparently, though how long that would last couldn't be guaranteed. Once those perks ran dry, there was no doubt she would be faced with an irate and wrathful Bellatrix, but for now, she tried not to think about the implications of that scenario.

"You don't know why—Merlin woman you are aggravating!" He ran his hands through his hair, grabbing at the blond locks and pulling in frustration.

"I don't know what you want from me, Malfoy! I can't be someone I'm not!" she yelled, exasperated. He had this ability to bring her emotions from zero to ten in a frighteningly quick way. Not to mention she didn't appreciate being yelled at.

"I want you fucking safe, Granger!" he fumed stepping toward her and grasping her arms, pinning them to the sides. "I want you to _not_ be locked in a fucking cell, essentially a sitting duck for my mad aunt to do as she pleases. I want you out of bloody danger!" His face was inches from hers, and his hands were gripping her a little too tightly. She could feel him shaking as he yelled at her.

"Too bad!" she screamed. "It's not exactly a possibility right now, and it wouldn't be even if I went along with your stupid plan! I will never be safe in this war!" Hermione wiggled slightly, bringing her arms up to push at his chest. His grip didn't loosen though, he just pulled her closer and held tighter—their faces were so close that she could feel his breath.

"You are so stubborn!" he growled with seething impatience. As he looked her in the eyes for the first time today, however, everything began to soften. His hands loosened, though he kept a light grip; his expression wavered, morphing into desperation. "I can't leave you here."

"Why do you even care so much?" she asked. Looking into his eyes, Hermione felt her own temper subsiding and her body relaxed some of the tension it had been holding.

Draco held her for a moment, a rattled expression shaping his features, before he let one of her arms go, bringing his hand up and trailing it across her cheekbone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Hermione felt the shift in his behaviour immediately and her eyes widened.

"Why do I care? Merlin, Hermione. For the brightest witch of our age, you really are daft," he whispered, leaning in.

Time seemed to slow as Draco gently laced his fingers through the curls at the nape of her neck. He held her steady for a moment, looking into her eyes, causing her heart to race. She swallowed as she met his gaze, involuntarily closing her eyes when he captured her lips with his own in a tender kiss. Hermione hadn't been expecting it, and couldn't help the small moan that escaped her throat at the contact.

That delicious moan had been all the confirmation he needed. Draco moved the hand that was gripping her arm around to her lower back, pulling her into him and closing the distance between their bodies. He had expected her to push him away, to slap him even, so when she instead clutched desperately at the fabric on his chest, it only increased his need for her. He ran his tongue along her lips in a silent request and she opened to him in response. Moving his tongue into the wet warmth of her mouth, he nearly lost all control when she gently pushed her own tongue forward to meet his. A low groan escaped him at the sensation, and he stepped closer until her back was against the wall behind her, pressing his body into hers and pinning her there. He moved his hands to rest on her hips and lost himself to her as she moaned again, releasing his shirt to move her arms around his neck and grip his hair passionately.

 _Merlin, this is ecstasy,_ he thought, trailing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. He ran a slow hand up her side, feeling her shudder at the contact, her head falling back as she gasped at his touch. Her needy response was unexpected, and only served to urge him on; he dipped his hands under the hem of her baggy shirt, spreading his fingers wide, touching as much of her skin as he could. He ran his thumbs up slowly, and gripped her hips, tilting them into his own. Bringing his mouth back to hers, he kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip and relishing in the taste of her, devouring each little moan and sigh of pleasure she made.

Draco moved one of his hands up her body over the shirt, grinning when her breath hitched sharply as he grazed her breast, though he reluctantly continued its ascent, cupping her jaw as he tenderly kissed her once more. He drew back regretfully, resting his forehead on hers, and listened to her ragged breathing. He let the hand on her face ease back, gently tangling into her curls, while his other still gripped her hip under the shirt.

"Salazar, Granger," he murmured when he finally found his voice. "I should have done that a lot sooner."

She laughed nervously and turned her head slightly, burying it in the crook of his neck. Her arms slid down, resting on his chest once more, but her breathing was still ragged; it was taking every bit of willpower he had not to kiss her again. When she finally brought her head up and pushed at him a little, he took half a step back to look in her eyes.

Even in the darkness, he could see the tears forming there.

Gently taking her face in both of his hands, he tilted it up slightly, "Hey, what's the matter?" he asked softly. When she merely answered with a shake of her head, a frightening realisation crashed over him and he dropped his hands immediately as he began to back away. "I didn't mean to—I thought you wanted to… shite, Hermione, I'm so sorry."

Relief flooded him when she only gripped his shirt tighter, pulling him back into her even as he tried to back away. "No, no it's not that. I just—" she paused for a moment, her next words coming out in barely a whisper, "I don't want you to go."

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her tightly—there was really nothing he could say about that. At least nothing that would make it any better. So he held her, running his hand from her head, down her back, trying to comfort the girl he was about to leave alone in a snake pit.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't want to leave. Maybe I can—maybe I can find a way to come back, you know, leave early. If I—" she shook her head against his chest, cutting him off.

She had an annoying habit of that.

"You can't. You have to go back. There's nothing here for you except more danger. Besides, I need you to get a message to the Order—tell them I'm here, hopefully help them figure out a _decent_ plan to get me out."

Draco scoffed, knowing full well that the Order wouldn't be able to help her, even if they wanted to. It would be too risky trying to get in the manor—they would lose too many members, and they wouldn't risk it to rescue one person, no matter who it was. Instead of pointing that out, _again_ , he responded by simply ignoring the second half of that statement. "I know I have to go back—doesn't mean I want to."

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you," she sighed, looking up at him.

When their eyes met, Draco felt that tightening in his chest—and elsewhere—again, and wanted nothing more than to lean down and snog her senseless. Again. Instead, he reached out, tucking one of her wayward curls behind her ear, running his fingers through her hair.

Attempting to run his fingers through her hair.

"Salazar, Granger, ever heard of a brush?" he chuckled, as he disentangled his hand from her head.

The moment was broken, but she laughed at him—the first time he'd heard her laugh in ages—and swatted at his chest. "Don't be a prat!"

"I'll bring you a brush," he said, finally freeing his hand entirely of not only her twisted locks, but the straggling hairs that decided to attach themselves to his fingers.

"Won't someone notice? I mean, that you've brought all these things to me?" she asked, sounding concerned.

"Oh, you mean water, a clean shirt, and a brush? Yeah, Granger, those will be the first things they search your cell for," he said dryly, rolling his eyes.

"No, seriously Draco. They'll know you're helping me."

"One, no one will check, so no one will know. Two, _if_ someone checked, and that is a big _if_ , they honestly wouldn't notice or care that you have a brush— have you seen your hair lately? They would probably owl me a thank you note. Third— no, don't interrupt," he held a finger up as her mouth opened, stopping her protest before she was able to get it out. "Third, I believe I have found you an ally here."

"Draco, if this has anything to do with your ridiculous plan or your mother, I don't even want to hear it."

"Since I know how much you like listening to the sound of my voice, it's lucky for you that it has to do with neither of those." He smirked as she hit him again. There was something about her thinking that those tiny little hands could inflict pain— _without_ a wand— that made him want to laugh.

"Alright then, spill."

"I may or may not have illegally drugged someone with Veritaserum in order to obtain this information," he said, watching for her reaction. In school, she was so bloody split between following the rules, and breaking every single one of them with Potty and the Weasel, that he wasn't sure how she would react to this bit of bending he'd done.

"I may or may not have brewed Polyjuice Potion second year in order to impersonate students to find the Heir of Slytherin," she said, then adding under her breath, "And they may or may not have been your friends."

"You what?!"

"Oh, I thought we were giving useless tidbits about past deeds that can't be changed, and technically didn't harm anyone in the long run," she shrugged, hiding the faintest smirk on her lips.

"Bloody hell, witch," Draco said, running a hand down his face. He couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. "Alright then, we will most certainly come back to _that_ little admission at a later time. For now, we have a time limit and important things to discuss."

She raised her eyebrows waiting for him to continue, and suddenly Draco was nervous. It was one thing to get Rowle on his side, but another thing entirely to get Hermione on Rowle's side. He tortured her for Salazar's sake, why would she ever trust him? Bloody hell, he should have thought this through a little more.

"You're not going to like it." He took a deep breath.

"What's new then," she rolled her eyes, unconcerned. "I haven't liked _any_ of your plans, yet."

"Thorfinn Rowle."

"What?" she said, taken aback.

"It's Rowle. He's the one who's going to help."

Hermione swiftly ducked around him and walked to the other side of the cell, a whole four steps away—four small steps. He turned, watching her back as she obviously took a deep breath.

"You realise he tortured me, right Malfoy?" The way she spat his name felt like a kick in the gut.

"I'm aware," he said, trying not to let her icy tone affect him. "But he is a friend, Hermione, and I trust him."

"Oh, _wonderful_ , Draco. You willingly put your trust in a man who tortured me. That's really reassuring," she fumed.

"It's not like that, Hermione." Walking toward her he put his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. "He didn't exactly have a choice, and I hate to say this, but if he hadn't done a thorough job, if there had been any room for doubt, the Dark Lord would have just had someone else do it. And it would have been much worse, I can guarantee that."

"So just because it could have been worse, you want me to trust this man? Draco, he _tortured_ me! Do you even know what that's like? To be cursed three times by your crazy aunt, only to be revived and tortured all over again by some stranger digging around in your mind!?"

"I do," he said quietly and watched as her anger faded slightly, understanding and tenderness replacing it.

"I didn't know," she said softly.

"It's not like I advertise my fucked up home life, Hermione. But yes, I do know what that's like. My aunt isn't known to go easy on anyone, even family. I've had the pleasure of being at the end of several wands aimed for torture. Rowle's is most certainly the one I'd prefer."

She reached out and touched his cheek, sweeping her delicate fingers across his jawline before drawing it back, staring at him a moment, then walking past him to sit against the wall once more. She patted the ground next to her motioning for him to sit, and so he did.

"Alright then, tell me about this Rowle." She sounded resigned, and as much as Draco hated the feeling that she was only being so cooperative because she pitied him, he still took advantage of the fact that she was even _being_ cooperative. Very un-Hermione of her.

"I'm not sure where to start," he confessed.

"The beginning is usually a good place."

"She has humour?" he chuckled, relaxing a bit.

When she scooted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, he did his best not to react even though all he wanted to do was pull her into him and possibly never let go. Pushing that thought aside, he focused instead on getting her to trust Rowle.

"I've been friends with him for a couple of years, but we weren't very close until more recently. We had to spend a lot of time together over the summer… _working_. There aren't many Death Eaters our age—you know he's only a couple years older than us—plus it's easy to see he isn't dedicated to the cause if you know what you're looking for."

"And I assume you do?"

"Well, it takes one to know one, love."

She scoffed, shaking her head slightly, but he continued. "Anyway, I knew he wasn't very supportive of the way the Dark Lord went about things, but I wasn't sure if he was supportive of the _ideals,_ the _reasons_. It isn't something you can just ask, you know. So I had him in for a spot of firewhisky the other night, laced it with Veritaserum, and figured him out." He purposefully left out the fact that things hadn't exactly gone to plan.

"And I assume that he proved… trustworthy?" she asked, sitting up and looking at him.

"He made a Wizard's Promise, Hermione."

"Oh," she said, apparently not expecting that.

"He said he was quite impressed by you, too. Said he didn't even know you'd been using Occlumency until you were nearly blacked out, at the end."

"He couldn't tell?" she asked, surprised.

"No, he had no idea, so whatever you've been doing, it's working." Draco paused for a moment, hoping that she would at least go with him on this. She needed someone she could trust while he was gone. _He_ needed it—to know she had someone on her side. "You can trust him, Hermione."

She shook her head, "I don't know. I'll think about it, I guess. It's not like I'll have much else to do while you're gone."

Draco sighed, resting his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Stubborn Gryffindor," he mumbled, though a smile crossed his face. She laughed again, and the sound made his smile grow, spreading wide across his face. _Salazar, he was becoming a bloody girl,_ he thought, trying to wipe the offending grin from his face.

"Alright. You think about it, but if I know Rowle, you won't have much time to 'think'," he said, making little air quotes. It was the perfect excuse to raise his arms, and then subtly put one around the witch currently leaning on him. He smirked, continuing. "He is interested in you and wants to get to know you better. My guess is he will formally introduce himself to you his next shift."

"Ugh," she groaned, adjusting herself slightly to accommodate the arm now around her back. "Pushy Slytherin."

"Hey, aren't Gryffindors supposed to be all about making new friends and shit?"

"That's Hufflepuffs and you know it, prat," she laughed, swatting his knee. Her laughter died quickly though, and soon she was quiet. Draco assumed she was thinking about him leaving, same as he was. He glanced down at his watch and his heart sank. Five minutes. How had it gone by so quickly today?

A faint panic crawled up his spine, settling itself dead centre in his chest. When he cleared his throat quietly she turned her head to look up at him, and Draco watched her expression falter when she saw his frown.

"I have to leave."

She sighed deeply, turning her head away from him. "I know."

"I don't—"

"It's alright, Draco. I'll be fine."

Removing his arm from around her shoulders, Draco stood, offering his hand to her once he did. She took it, and they both stood awkwardly facing each other, not knowing how to say goodbye.

"I'm going to come back as soon as I can, Hermione, but I don't know when that will be. You've got to trust Rowle, or at least try." He gently cupped her chin, tilting her face up until her gaze met his own. "Please," he whispered.

A single tear escaped from her eye, sliding down her cheek. Draco swiped it away with his thumb, before leaning down and capturing her lips with his own.

This kiss was different. It was tender, and sweet, and full of promise—and regret. It lasted only a moment before he was pulling away, wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tightly to him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

Her throat was constricted, and the weight sitting on her chest felt so heavy that all Hermione could do to answer was nod her head. Draco was leaving, and she was about to be alone in this nightmare. The terror of that realisation filled her so completely that she had to spend the next moment focusing on making sure her body continued to breathe. In, and out. His arms were wrapped around her, holding tightly, and she was sure that she was going to fall apart once he let go. He placed a light kiss on the top of her head and stepped away, leaving her feeling exposed, cold, and terrified.

Draco paused at the door, looking at her once more, before closing and locking it behind him and walking away. She heard his footsteps grow faint until there was nothing but silence surrounding her—suffocating her.

She was alone.

 

xXxXxXx


	27. Nothing Good Lasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** Just sending love  & hugs to you all this week!
> 
>  

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

**Nothing Good Lasts**

He hadn't brought her a brush.

He'd left, and that was it. It's not like Hermione had been expecting him to come back, not after that awful goodbye, but still. He said he was going to bring her a brush, and he hadn't. Now she was not only stuck alone in a cold dark cell, at the centre of Death Eater headquarters, with nothing to eat, no one she trusted, and no hope whatsoever of a rescue any time soon, but she also had no way of managing her insanely matted, disgusting hair.

On top of all the other lovely stuff she was contending with, Hermione now had no way to keep track of what day it was, or even if a day had passed at all. With no more regular visits from Draco, she wasn't sure if one hour had passed, or ten, and somehow that bothered her more than almost everything else.

How long had she been here? What day was it? How many days since Draco left? _No bloody clue._ It was probably at least 12 hours since Draco had come and gone. She thought she'd heard the door to the main chamber twice, but she couldn't be entirely sure. She was hungry, too. The last week with actual _food—_ hot, delicious, non-mushroom food—had left her ill-prepared to be hungry again. Her stomach had stretched out slightly, which just left her feeling the pangs of hunger again in full force, now that she had nothing to eat. Her mind was likely exaggerating the feeling because she wasn't sure when she would be able to eat again, but still, the feeling was there nonetheless.

Draco had told her that he thought Rowle would come to see her at his next shift, but he hadn't said when that would be, and even if he had, it's not like Hermione could keep track of the time anyway. So she sat in the cell, staring at the wall, wrapped up in the comfort of everything Draco—his clothes, his blanket, the memory of his kiss—and she cried.

The sobs wracked her body, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe if she held tightly enough, she wouldn't fall apart. Because it surely felt like her body was crumbling; like everything was going to explode if she let go—so she held on. Her fingernails were digging into her arms, but she held on. What was a little more pain? When everything was falling apart, did one more cut even matter?

Eventually, her tears ran dry, her body stopped shaking, and she was able to lower herself onto her side, curl into a ball, and close her eyes.

Sleep, of course, did not come. She didn't know if she would ever be able to sleep on her own again, let alone locked up here in this cell without Draco's lap to lay on, and his hand running comfortingly along her head.

After some time, Hermione sat up again. She had to pee.

It was better than a bucket, but not by much. The toilet in the corner of the room was without privacy or dignity. She had even been limiting her water intake to avoid having to use the thing more than absolutely necessary. Hermione shrugged the blanket off of her shoulders and made the short walk to the toilet. She listened intensely for a moment, making sure that no one was coming down the hallway, before quickly pulling the sweatpants down, and peeing.

It was absurd, but the humiliation of being seen so exposed—she just couldn't deal with it. The fear of someone coming to the cell while she was sitting on that damned toilet was right up there with another curse from Bellatrix. So she had learned to pee with more efficiency than a niffler in a jewellery shop and was cuddled back under that blanket before even a full two minutes had passed.

Cuddled back under the blanket and back to the boring nothingness that was captivity.

xXxXxXx

For the first time in years, Draco sat on the Hogwarts Express wishing he were at home. It was an odd feeling; he usually loathed being at the manor, and going back to Hogwarts was a relief. This time though, he felt like he had left his heart there, and its separation from his body was physically painful.

The compartment was full, as usual, but instead of taking comfort in seeing his friends all safe, away from their homes, he was sulking. Aside from a curt nod in greeting to Theo, and a simple 'hey' to Pansy, Draco hadn't spoken since boarding the train. He was sitting in the window seat, looking out at the landscape as the train hurtled them toward their destination. Pansy had taken her usual spot next to him and was currently laying with her head in his lap, taking up the rest of the bench and annoyingly playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Daphne and Theo were holding hands and whispering something Draco didn't care to listen to, while Blaise sat on Daphne's other side with Astoria on the floor between his legs. He was running his hands through her hair, braiding and unbraiding it like he was a bloody girl or something. Draco tried to pay attention at first when everyone was talking about their Christmas holiday, but he found himself so distracted that he couldn't keep up. Theo had tried to ask him about his obvious foul mood, but Draco shrugged his shoulders and made little effort to converse. They had all eventually just let him be and he was perfectly fine with that.

So he sat, staring out the window and thinking. The raid on the Order house turned out to be a bust, which pissed him off. It had clearly been a safe house at some point, but not recently. There was nothing left in the place aside from some dirty dishes that were growing something in the sink, empty potions bottles, and a few personal items here and there. Nothing that gave them any information though and Draco was immensely glad that he didn't have to go back to the Manor with the others. He had been dropped off at Kings Cross, and they would have to be the ones to tell the Dark Lord of their failure. Not that it was really a failure—the _information_ had been useless, not them—but the Dark Lord wouldn't care. The informant would likely be killed, and the three returning Death Eaters would be punished.

That was the only good thing about being on this train right now. He wasn't being punished. Physically, at least. This non-stop worry about Hermione sure felt like punishment, though. It ate at him, icy claws digging into his chest, and his thoughts unable to stray from her for more than a few moments. They always snapped right back to her though, reminding him of what an arse he was.

He left her. In that cell, alone, terrified. He bloody left her. With nothing more than a water, a blanket, and his word that Rowle could be trusted. He hadn't even brought the fucking brush he'd promised her.

Shaking his head to try and rid his thoughts of her for a moment, Draco looked around the compartment. Astoria and Blaise had left without him noticing, and Pansy was asleep in his lap. That bloody witch could sleep anywhere. He glanced over to Theo and Daphne, who were huddled together, still whispering, apparently unaware of Draco's entrance back into reality. He could tell they were talking about something more than the trivial nothingness that couples tended to whisper about together. In an effort to remain inconspicuous, Draco turned his head slowly back to the window but listened intently to their conversation.

"I just don't think it's a good idea, Theo."

"It will be better to choose it, Daph. To volunteer."

"But, maybe if you just—maybe we could just leave, after school…"

"We'd end up on the death list, and I can't put you in that kind of danger. I don't have a choice here, Daph, but you do. If you—you can still get out of this. Leave, go to America or something."

"Theodore Nott, if you think I could ever leave you, you're—"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off when the compartment door jolted open, and a giggling Astoria stepped through, followed by Blaise. Daphne and Theo turned to the door, watching as the two sat down, and Draco tuned them all out again as they began discussing some Hufflepuff first year that had apparently tried to impress their compartment with magic, only to cover everyone inside with a blue powder that apparently would not wipe off.

Draco let his mind wander back to Hermione, but this time tried to ignore the worries he had, and instead let his thoughts turn to their kiss. The feel of her lips against his, the way she clung to him like he was her lifeline, the way he simultaneously felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked from his lungs _and_ like he was breathing for the first time. Like he had been drowning until that moment, and she pulled him to the surface, saving him. He hadn't been expecting her to react like she had; he honestly thought she would push him away. But she didn't. She kissed him back. _And Salazar, the witch could kiss._ He'd thought he was going to lose it right then and there. It took every bit of willpower he had to leave it at just a kiss.

Draco took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh, cold air that was near the window. He was losing his mind over a girl, and that was dangerous. He had to keep his head clear and figure out how he was going to get a message to the Order. Not that he thought they could do anything, but he promised Hermione that he would try. And he had to keep at least one promise he made to her.

Apparently, he also had to talk to Theo, now. If his friend was thinking about taking the Mark, which is exactly what it had sounded like, then they needed to discuss it. Draco hadn't had a choice when he was marked, not really. His father had told him it was time for him to become a Death Eater—make his family proud—and with the Dark Lord living in his own home, it's not like he could just avoid it. It was be marked or be killed, and Draco was not ready to die. Theo though, Theo had a choice right now. He didn't have to do this, at least not yet, and Draco planned to convince him of that.

xXxXxXx

Disturbing. That was the only word Hermione could think of to describe herself right now. Boredom had fully taken over and was the star of her life. She had less than nothing to do, and her mind was desperate. That desperation was what led her to trying to keep track of time with her bladder. It wasn't an exact science by any means, but it was better than nothing. She knew that since Draco had brought her the water, she had been having to relieve herself twice a day. Doing her best to keep her drinking patterns the same, she knew that she had thus far gone pee twice, which meant that it should be the middle of next day.

Or that she was crazy.

Probably that. Because who in Merlin's name keeps track of time by their bladder? Who even thinks of that? _What a ridiculous idea!_ Hermione sat up, shaking her head to try and physically remove these absurd thoughts from her mind. She was losing it, and it had only been one day.

Probably one day. If her bladder was a good indication of time. Which in all likeliness, it wasn't. Good grief, she had to find something to do before she really lost her mind. What point would there be in rescuing her if her brain had rotted beyond redemption when they finally got to her? Right, so she had to keep it sharp. Or as sharp as she could, with nothing to actually do.

"I supposed I could start listing spells again," she said out loud. "But really that isn't that _hard_. Maybe—Oh good Godric, I'm talking to myself! This is it, I'm losing it. I'm officially a crazy person."

"Ahh, I don't think the crazy know they're crazy, that's what _makes_ them crazy, doll."

Hermione let out a startled scream at the voice, clutching her hand to her chest in shock, her breath coming in quick, short gasps.

"Sorry to startle you, but I didn't want to interrupt." The man chuckled, leaning against the bars of the door.

"Who—" Hermione started to ask but was promptly interrupted.

"You wound me, doll. Thorfinn Rowle, we met before. Though, I suppose I understand if you don't remember. It wasn't the most pleasant of circumstances."

"I have nothing to say to you," Hermione said, sitting back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest.

"That's quite alright, gorgeous. Draco said you might be a little… resistant," Rowle said. He crouched down and slid something beneath the bars toward her.

Hermione swallowed. He'd brought her food. She made no move to grab it, but she did look up at him a little softer. "Thank you," she said reluctantly. She wasn't particularly thrilled that the man who tortured her was the only one she could _supposedly_ trust in this hell hole, but she also wasn't dumb. And it would be a mistake to ruin a relationship with the only one who might bring her food here.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just grabbed some of everything," he said, shrugging.

"I'm sure it's fine," Hermione replied curtly. She still hadn't moved to grab the plate, and he was eying her in a way that made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. She just wanted him to leave.

"You'll warm up to me, doll."

"Doubtful." Hermione rolled her eyes and watched the man stand up, grinning.

"I'd make you a bet, but I don't think you've got much to offer up," he chuckled. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened, I really am. But I didn't have a choice, and I'm making up for it now," he shrugged again, running a hand through his long hair.

"You can make up for it by getting me out of here."

"Sorry, doll. Slytherin," he said, pointing to his chest. "That would get _me_ killed, and the self-preserving instinct is pretty strong here."

"Worth a shot," Hermione said, sighing.

He chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. Hermione couldn't tell what it was in the dark, but she watched him finger it for a moment before speaking again.

"When they brought you in, they took your wand right off, for obvious reasons. However, they didn't search you right away—left that one up to me. I pocketed this, don't know why, but when I asked Draco about it, he said to give it back to you—sentimental value or some shite like that." Rowle pushed his arm through the bars, his fist still closed around the object.

Hermione hesitated a moment, stuck between wanting him to leave, and wondering what he was giving her. Her heart was hoping, but hope was a dangerous thing, she knew that.

It was only thirty seconds before curiosity won out, and Hermione stood up, slowly walking toward the door. At first, she kept her eyes on Rowle, still not trusting of the man, but she quickly let her gaze fall to his fist in front of her. Stretching her arm forward, she put her hand underneath his, opening it. When he dropped her Galleon necklace into her palm, Hermione could have cried. She clutched the necklace to her chest, squeezing her eyes tightly as she tried to stop the tears prickling in their corners.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, looking Rowle in the eyes.

He looked curiously back at here, raising one of his eyebrows in question—which Hermione purposefully ignored.

"You going to leave me hanging here? It's a bloody Galleon, on a chain…?"

"Yes, it is." Hermione smiled at him, slipping the chain over her head and placing the Galleon under her shirt, over her heart.

"You seem to have a lot of secrets, witch."

"All the good ones do," she said, heading back to her little spot against the wall.

He laughed loudly at that and turned toward the exit. "I have a feeling we're going to be great friends," he said, still laughing.

"We'll see."

"I've got plenty of time to convince you, gorgeous," Rowle said, bringing his hand up to his forehead and giving her a cocky two finger salute. "Until next time."

Hermione watched him walk away, listening to his footsteps until they disappeared down the hallway. As soon as she was sure he was gone, she leant forward, grabbing up the plate he had left and pulled it into her lap. It was an assortment of breakfast items.

She scooted back to her spot against the wall, and began to eat. Sausage, eggs, fruit, it was all there. She begrudgingly thought that he must have at least one redeeming quality since he had remembered to feed her. She wasn't ready to fully trust him though, even after he brought her the necklace. Draco had said he was 'a good guy', and could be trusted—that he had even made a Wizard's Promise, but that didn't make up for the fact that he had tortured her until she thought she was going to die.

Really the only thing that could make up for that was if he somehow got her out of this cell and away from the Manor. Which was obviously not going to happen. She would eat the food he brought, but she didn't have any plans of trusting the man. Not yet, at least.

Hermione finished what she could of the food, and set the rest to the side. She pulled the Galleon out from under her shirt, fingering the little coin and finding comfort in its familiarity. It would be difficult to use wandlessly, though she felt certain that after some practice, it could be done. No, the thing that would really hinder her use of the coin was the fact that she couldn't bloody read in the dark.

xXxXxXx

Five days.

It had been five days since Draco left. Five days that she'd been alone, with nothing but her mind to occupy her time. Hermione thought back to all the times she had told her parents she was _bored_ and laughed bitterly.

She hadn't known what boredom was.

Now, though, now she knew. Her mind was bored, but her body was just as bad. She was fully healed now, and her body was aching to move. More than the confines of her cell allowed. So she had been practising her wandless magic. Nearly every moment that she was in that blasted cell, she was practising.

She thought she was doing fairly well, too. Last week she had hardly been able to summon the blanket to her, but now after five days straight of doing nothing but exercising her magical core, only resting when she got too tired, she was quite proud of what she was able to manage.

One of the first things she had become efficient at was warming the water in the bottle. _Merlin had a warm 'shower' felt amazing._ With so little around her, and not wanting to bring undue attention to the fact that she was doing magic, what she had been able to practise had been minimal. But she felt her magical core almost stretching, as though it were a muscle she was exercising and growing stronger. Which, she supposed, it was.

Hermione had spent hours trying to unlock her cell door, but without knowing what kind of locking spells they had on it, she was getting absolutely nowhere. Still, she tried. Spending hours at a time doing wandless magic was not easy, and Hermione always ended these sessions panting and covered in sweat, completely exhausted. It was the one thing she could do to almost trick her body into sleeping. Tire it out so much, exhaust it, until the only option was to pass out.

Sleep was something that she didn't do a lot of now. _If_ she was able to sleep, she could never _stay_ asleep for long. She would wake up with nightmares, screaming for Harry, or having to check her body for damage from curses. No, sleep was not her friend here, but after she had tired herself out from these practising sessions, she was usually able to get a wink in. Which is where she found herself now, slumped over and catching her breath after using every cleaning charm she ever learned on the little cell. _Thank you Molly Weasley,_ she thought. Even if she couldn't tell if it looked any different, as the dark surely hid the horror in the cell, she at least _felt_ a little better about it. Laying her head down, it took only minutes before exhaustion won out and she was drifting off to sleep.

Nothing good lasts, though, and Hermione found herself startled awake at the sound of clacking heels in the hallway. She immediately sat up, heart pounding, and praying it was Narcissa.

It wasn't.

xXxXxXx


	28. Desero Penitus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** I just love you all. Your comments are wonderful and I cannot wait for you to see where this story is going!
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

**Desero Penitus  
**

Her back was pressed hard against the wall of the cell as if she could make herself invisible and disappear into it. Her breathing was shallow and the intensity of her pounding heart was almost painful.

As the clacking of heels grew nearer, and finally stopped in front of her cell, Hermione found herself looking up into the crazed expression of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Well, well, well," she sneered, pressing her face into the bars to glare at Hermione. She put her hand up, running a finger down one of the bars, using her nail to scratch the metal as she drew it down. The sound sent chills through Hermione's body.

"Look at you," she said and paused, doing just that. Hermione thought her skin might burst into flames from the woman's scathing look alone. "You might have pure blood running through your veins, but you're still a mudblood in every other sense, and you'll never be welcome here. Your slut of a mother should have swallowed," Bellatrix spat as she pointed her wand at the door.

One little swish and it swung open.

Hermione was trembling now. She watched as the woman almost gleefully stepped into the little cell, her heels clacking once, twice, three times, before Bellatrix stopped, towering over Hermione.

"Cat got your tongue?" she sang, looking crazed. Hermione knew the effects Azkaban had on one's mental state could be detrimental, and it was obvious that Bellatrix had lost more than just time while imprisoned. The woman was deranged.

Even if Hermione had wanted to say something, she couldn't. Her throat had closed up and her entire body was frozen in fear. She watched as Bellatrix brought her wand up, twirling it around one of the curls near her face, looking pensive.

"Well, if you don't want to chat, then what _exactly_ will we do?" She continued to twirl the curl around the end of her wand, tipping her head slightly as if to study Hermione. "Ah, yes. I agree," she said, as if answering a response, though Hermione hadn't spoken. "Continue where we left off then?"

She brought her head back to centre as her wand stopped twirling, the point resting on her temple briefly before dragging down the side of her face, neck, and bust. Suddenly she had it flipped toward Hermione and her expression had gone even darker.

Hermione let out an involuntary whimper, knowing what was coming.

" _Crucio!"_

Hermione's body immediately seized as the curse washed over her. It felt like nails dragging down her skin, piercing her; like actual fire in her veins. She clamped her lips together, her teeth slamming shut in both response to the intensity of the curse, as well as her own determination not to scream. It's not like anyone would come to save her, and she didn't want to give the mad woman the satisfaction of her screams. At least, for as long as she could hold them back.

Her head slammed into the stone wall behind her, but the pain was almost negligible, overshadowed by the Crucio. Hermione heard a laugh—a crazed high pitched laugh that she knew would be one of the last things she heard. The woman wasn't here to simply play, she was here to kill. As the pain continued to tear through her body, Hermione lost track of everything else. Her senses dulled until the only thing she could think about was the pain. Ripping through her, scorching her skin, stabbing her, cutting her. It was too much. It was agony.

She screamed.

And Bellatrix laughed even more, delighted by the pain she was causing.

Hermione didn't even realise it right away when the curse lifted. The pain wracking her body was so intense that it took several moments for her to notice that Bellatrix had withdrawn her wand. Opening her eyes, Hermione looked up at the woman. She was standing as though this were nothing more than afternoon tea, while Hermione panted and tried to catch her breath, her body convulsing as the residual waves of pain coursed through her.

"Lovely," Bellatrix drawled. "I do love it when they scream."

"Fuck you," Hermione spat between short breaths. She clutched her sides, trying to hold herself together.

"He's talked about you for years, you know—in his sleep. Didn't know I knew about you, but how could I not?"

Hermione remained silent, glaring at the woman. The pain was still radiating and excruciating, but she suddenly felt a fire in her chest that had nothing to do with the pain. This was the witch who had tortured Neville's parents to insanity. She had cursed and tortured Draco, she took pleasure in torturing and killing muggle-borns and muggles. She was pure evil, and Hermione was furious at this woman. She would not simply lie down and die. Hermione Granger was a fighter. And she would fight.

"You do realise you are going to die tonight, right?" Bellatrix asked casually, smiling.

Hermione took a deep breath, flinching at the sharp pain caused by the expansion of her lungs. She squared her shoulders, and with quite a bit of difficulty, pushed herself off the ground to stand, facing the deranged witch in front of her.

"Not… without… a fight," she managed, narrowing her eyes. Her wandless magic was nowhere near advanced enough to actually duel Bellatrix, she knew that, but she wasn't going to die without at least trying.

Bellatrix slowly tilted her head to the side, sneering at Hermione. "You think you can beat me?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

"No," Hermione admitted, not backing down, "But that doesn't mean I won't try."

"How very like your mother you are," she said, laughing. "How poetic that your end will be so very similar to hers."

Hermione's heart dropped. She had known there was little chance of finding her birth mother, but she'd held onto hope.

"You know he's come to visit me, right? He sneaks away from you so he can see me. I imagine it's quite similar to how he snuck away from you to see my mother—"

Hermione was interrupted before she could finish her sentence, but she was prepared.

" _Crucio!"_ Bellatrix screamed, infuriated.

" _Protego!"_ Hermione threw both her hands in front of her as if to create the shield with her own palms. She could feel the magic flowing through her, as her shield raised itself. She was breathing heavily again, the effort to sustain the shield draining her energy rapidly.

Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she watched Bellatrix's expression change. Her confidence clearly faltering, though, Hermione noted, her anger rising.

Bellatrix sent another curse her way, and Hermione kept her shield steady, though she knew that she wouldn't last for long. The amount of energy she was expending was rapidly draining her—the effect felt almost like blood loss as her limbs began to grow cold and numb.

One shot. She had one chance to do damage; Hermione was under no mistaken assumption that she would make it out of this alive. No, she was going to die here, but Bellatrix would not walk away unscathed if she could help it. Taking a deep breath and watching for the moment the woman in front of her prepared for another curse, Hermione waited, ready.

As soon as Bellatrix drew her wand back to begin another assault, Hermione attacked.

" _Sectumsempra!"_ she screamed, pushing her magic out of her as forcefully as she could, and immediately collapsing with the effort.

Bellatrix screamed as the flesh of her cheek and upper chest split open. Hermione watched as the woman began to bleed, though not as much as she had hoped for. Unfortunately, due to her already weakened body, and the fact that she cast the spell wandlessly, it appeared neither deep, nor life threatening. Bellatrix slowly brought her hand up to her cheek, pressing her fingertips to the slash. She brought her hand in front of her face, looking at the blood covering her fingers, before returning her gaze to Hermione, who was sprawled on the floor, now completely defenceless.

"You'll pay for that, bitch."

Hermione had hardly a moment for the terror to set in before the pain started again. She screamed as tremors wracked her body and her muscles seized. The pain sliced through her and she writhed on the floor, unable to control her movements. She wasn't sure how long this continued, unable to think through the agony. Eventually, the pain, though still excruciating, lessened, and she was able to open her eyes. She saw the tips of Bellatrix's black boots in her face. Groaning, Hermione felt the woman viciously kick her in the stomach, and then use the tips of her boots to roll her onto her back.

"You _are_ going to die tonight, child, but it will not be quick. You will wish for death long before it comes for you," Bellatrix promised.

Hermione whimpered, watching as Bellatrix knelt down and withdrew a blade from her boot. She pressed the tip to Hermione's heart, twisting it. Hermione wanted to laugh; after the crucio, that nick was almost entirely ignorable. She winced slightly as the blade was drug across her chest, but made no noise.

Bellatrix watched her for a moment before a terrifying smile crossed her features, and she put the bloodied blade away. "Death by blade would be too easy, I believe. Even if I made it last, it wouldn't be enough. I want you to suffer. I want you to lie there, conscious, as your body dies."

She stood slowly, walking to the door, and Hermione thought for a moment that Bellatrix was just going to go—to leave her like this.

That was far to much to hope for though, Hermione realised, as Bellatrix turned back around, her face still twisted with the cruel smile.

" _Desero Penitus,"_ she said clearly, flicking her wand.

Hermione had braced herself for intense pain, but nothing happened. Bellatrix sent one last look at her, and Hermione _knew_ that she had done _something._ That was the look of a woman who had won. It frightened Hermione more than the Crucio because she didn't know _what_ Bellatrix had cursed her with. Clearly, though, Bellatrix was satisfied, because she turned and left the cell, waving her wand behind her. The door slammed shut with resounding finality as the locks clicked into place, and Hermione was left alone.

She lay still on the ground for a time, unable to move even if she'd wanted to. She knew her magic had been dangerously depleted from the intense wandless spells she had used—there was a cold hollow feeling in her chest—and tremors resulting from the Crucios washed over her every few minutes.

When she was finally able to move again, she rolled to her side, clutching her arms around herself trying to stem the pain. Rather than dissipating though, it seemed to be increasing. The pain was indescribable and quickly becoming overwhelming. It affected seemingly every part of her body simultaneously and she could do nothing to make it stop; she didn't even have enough magic left for a basic healing spell.

Laying on the ground, Hermione groaned as the pain radiated through her body. Her breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps, and she could tell her heartbeat had slowed to an unhealthy thump… thump. Her vision was blurring, and every part of her was throbbing. With a crashing realisation, Hermione cried out, terrified: her body was shutting down.

She was dying.

It took more effort than she imagined, but she pushed herself to her back, trying to open her lungs and let in more air. It didn't work. Even the soft fabric of her clothes felt like it was slicing her skin. The elastic of her bottoms, the necklace around her neck, everything touching her skin felt like agony. She thought for a moment that maybe she would just take it all off, but she quickly decided she had nowhere near enough strength for that. Eyelids falling closed, Hermione tried staunch the tears that were rapidly flowing. She was going to die here. Alone. No one would even know. Unable to hold back the tears any longer, she sobbed, wishing Draco were here. She wouldn't even be able to tell him what happened. He wouldn't know—

 _Her necklace!_ How had she forgotten her necklace! Hermione immediately put every effort she had into pulling the coin from around her neck. Lifting her head to get the chain off sent excruciating shock waves down her spine, but she was finally able to pull the coin into her vision.

Hermione focused every last bit of magic she had on one word, willing it onto the coin. Praying it would work. She cried out when she felt the exertion drain her life force, and her vision faded.

 _Bellatrix was right,_ she thought as everything faded to black, _she was going to die here._

xXxXxXx

Draco was sitting on his bed with the curtains drawn. It was just past midnight, and the other occupants in the dorm were sleeping, oblivious to his insomnia. Today marked five days since he had left the Manor, and five days since he last spoken to Hermione. It had been the longest fucking five days of his life so far. Every day he found himself thinking of her. There was literally nothing in this Salazar Forsaken school that didn't remind him of the witch. He saw her in the classes they no longer shared, in the quills laid out on desks, in the library—Merlin did he see her in the library; the books practically screamed her name at him. He sat in the bloody Great Hall for breakfast and thought of her when he put eggs and sausage on his plate for fucks sake. Thoughts of her had encompassed everything in his life like nothing before. Not even the constant crushing fear and anxiety that came from working for the Dark Lord had permeated his life like she had. Which is why he sat on his bed at midnight, leaning back on his pillows with his hands clasped behind his head, reliving their kiss.

Draco had snogged birds before, there was nothing necessarily new about that. Hell, he and Pansy had been doing more than snog for the past year, but that one kiss with Hermione still topped anything he'd ever done. Draco groaned, his face twisting in distaste as he realised why that was: bloody fucking _feelings_.

Obviously, he liked Hermione. He'd known that for some time now. When she saw his mark that day in the Room of Requirement and she had accepted him as is, rather than turning away in disgust. He'd known then that this was an unavoidable outcome.

" _We can figure it out, Malfoy," she insisted._

" _There's nothing to figure out! I can't leave!" He yanked his hand from hers, pushed his chair back, and violently pulled up his sleeve, revealing the snake and skull of the Dark Mark._

_She stood up and walked around the table to kneel in front of him. Gently taking his arm in her hands, she placed her palm over the mark, covering it._

" _Don't touch it, Granger, you're too—"_

_Cutting him off, Hermione looked into his eyes. "Shhh. This doesn't define you. This isn't who you are."_

_He tried to look away, but she lifted her hand to his face and gently turned his head back to her. "This isn't what you are, Draco. Have you forgotten which side you're really fighting for?"_

_It was the first time she'd used his name, and it sent a chill through him to hear it._

It sent a chill through him now, remembering it. That was the moment things really had changed for them. For _him._ That whole day had been different, and Draco smirked, chuckling to himself as he remembered how she'd clung to him on that broom—but it was that after that, when she accepted him as is, mark and all, when he'd known he was lost to her.

Closing his eyes, Draco sighed and threw back the covers of his bed; he was going to be dead tomorrow if he didn't get some sleep. He was absently fingering the coin that lay on his chest—he'd put it on a chain before he came back to Hogwarts, thinking that _if_ somehow Hermione was able to use hers, he would be more likely to feel it heat up if it sat directly on his skin. Over the summer he'd kept it in his pocket, checking it constantly throughout the day. Here though, someone was more likely to notice him constantly pulling it out of his pocket—Pansy was bloody nosy, and Theo was overly observant. So he'd taken a leaf from Hermione's book, and strung it on a chain.

It had sat cold on his skin every day since he'd put it there.

So when the coin began to warm in his fingers as he fiddled with it, Draco's heart briefly stopped before beginning to beat rapidly. He told himself it was just warming from his touching it because Hermione was wandless and couldn't use it. Could she? He flipped the coin over to check the surface.

_Bella_

What? Bell—shit!

 _What_? Apparently, she _could_ use it, and something was fucking wrong. Draco shot out of bed not bothering to put on a shirt. He snatched his wand off the table beside his bed before using it to fling open his trunk.

" _Accio_ Floo Powder," he whispered hurriedly, holding his hand open just in time for the small bag to plop into it. He turned on his heel and ran out of the dorm toward the common room. It was completely empty at this hour, thank the gods—five days into the term, students didn't have much reason for insane studying hours yet. Finally reaching the fireplace, Draco roughly opened the drawstring bag, plunging his fist in and pulling out a handful of the powder. He threw it into the fire place, blurting out "Malfoy Manor, Thorfinn Rowle!" as soon as the flames turned green. Draco waited just a moment as the Floos connected before sticking his head into the fireplace.

"Rowle! Rowle, wake up!" Draco shouted into the dark room, praying to Salazar that the man was in there. "Rowle, you bloody cunt, wake the fuck up!"

"The fuck?!"

"Rowle, it's Malfoy. Fucking get your arse over here!" Draco bellowed, watching as the man came into view.

"What the fuck man, what time is it? How are you even doing that? Aren't you at school?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Hogwarts fireplaces can Floo-Call if you've got the right powder; Snape gave it to me. Now will you fucking shut up and listen to me? Hermione is in trouble!"

"What? Why? How do you know?" Rowle asked, grabbing a pair of trousers from the chair to his left. He hastily stepped into them, waiting for Draco to elaborate.

"I have no fucking clue, but she sent me a message that said 'Bella', so I assume it has something to do with my crazy fucking aunt."

After pulling a shirt over his head, Rowle ran a hand through his messy hair, before putting it up in an elastic. "What the fuck do you mean ' _she sent you a message_ '?"

"That coin you gave her, we can use it to communi—bloody hell, who fucking cares _how_ , you have to get down there now!" Draco shouted, panic seeping through him.  
"Alright, alright," Rowle growled, waving Draco off as he turned on his heel.

"Use it to contact me as soon as you fucking can!" Draco shouted after the man who was halfway through the door already. He faintly heard the confirmation Rowle gave as he watched the door slam shut.

Draco pulled his head from the fireplace and rocked back on his heels, his heart pounding. It felt like the thing was going to beat right out of his chest. _How the fuck had he left her there? If anything happened to her, it would be his fault!_

He stood up and began pacing in the common room, unable to sit still and wait. The minutes ticked by as Draco paced, holding the coin in his palm so tightly that his fingers were going numb. He was watching the clock, the hands moving closer and closer to the one.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Draco shouted to the empty common room after watching the clock move to half past one. He was seriously considering going up to the Headmaster's office and demanding Snape let him Floo to the Manor himself when the coin finally began to heat his palm.

_Safe._

Safe? Bloody safe is all they fucking sent?! What the fuck had happened? Was she okay? Where was Bellatrix now? Fucking hell, that was _not_ enough information for him! He quickly tapped the coin, sending a message back.

_What happened? Are you okay?_

Draco let out a frustrated growl and began pacing again, waiting for another message. After another twenty minutes of radio silence, he reluctantly padded back into his dorm room. Sitting on his bed, he drew the curtains and put the coin back around his neck before slipping under the covers. He would send an owl first thing in the morning demanding Rowle tell him what happened, but for now, he needed to get some sleep.

Or at least try. How he was going to sleep after tonight he wasn't sure. The adrenaline was dissipating, but the feeling it left in its wake was going to drive him crazy. He couldn't relax, he couldn't get Hermione out of his mind, and his body was shaking—a residual effect of the pumping adrenaline he assumed.

The last _Tempus_ he cast told him it was nearing five in the bloody morning, and he'd still yet to sleep.

xXxXxXx


	29. I'm Not Naked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** HELLO LOVELIES! It's been a moment, hasn't it? I am back from vacation, surrounded by the greenery of Oregon that I always miss whenever I leave. Anyway, home sweet home, and back to weekly updates! ...I hope. I am currently only 1.5 chapters ahead, which means I need to kick my butt into gear or updates won't be weekly :( SEND MUSE DUST! Thank you all for being so patient - after 6 months of weekly updates, I'm not going to lie, it was nice to have a break. But I'm ready to be back at it! So, here we go! }
> 
>  
> 
> **So much love to you all, your comments and encouragements truly mean the world and are so inspiring!**

 

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

**I'm Not Naked**

Coming into consciousness after near death is neither comfortable nor easy. Hermione took a shallow, though deliberate, breath. With her eyes still closed she began to assess herself. Her body was more sore than it had ever been; the phrase _trampled by a herd of hippogriffs_ about covered it. The slight movement resulting from her shallow breaths was excruciating. Groaning, she moved a hand to her stomach, clutching it. Even after waking up in the hospital wing following Dolohov's attack, Hermione hadn't felt this bad—this drained.

She knew she couldn't stay in this in-between place forever, though, so she slowly opened her eyes, brows furrowed, as she adjusted to the light in the room.

_The light?_

Wherever she was, it clearly wasn't her cell. She hadn't seen this much light in weeks—since she'd been thrown in the dungeons. Hermione turned her head to the side, noticing that she was propped up on several pillows, to take in the room around her. It was large, and posh. The walls were done up in some fancy wallpaper, and the furniture was ornate. The four-poster bed she was tucked into was quite roomy, and possibly the most comfortable thing Hermione had touched in months. It was near perfection with its black satin sheets and poofy comforter. Honestly, she could likely die happy, right in this bed.

Snapping herself back to reality, Hermione again focused on trying to figure out where exactly she was. While the room was decorated exquisitely, there was nothing personal in it to give her a hint as to its owner. Hermione turned her head to the side and attempted to let her body follow, but a sharp pain _everywhere_ made her groan loudly and stop mid-roll.

"Easy there, doll."

Hermione froze, her breath catching in her throat. She was suddenly painfully aware of whose room this was, and she was exceedingly uncomfortable. Draco had said he trusted him, but that didn't mean _Hermione_ trusted him.

"Rowle," she said, her eyes searching the room for where the voice came from.

"You must like me more than I thought if you recognise me by voice alone," he said, and Hermione could hear the smirk on his face.

"Considering I've spoken to only six people in the last several months, it's not hard to make an impression," she said dryly.

Hermione finally caught movement by the fireplace, and focused her gaze to where one Thorfinn Rowle was rising out of his chair.

"Still, I'll take what I can get." He sauntered toward the bed, stopping to pick up something from a little table along the way. When he reached the bed, Hermione did her best not to recoil at his proximity. She thought it would probably be wise not to show her fear. She did what she could—considering the limitations of being horizontal—to square her shoulders and face him head on. He smirked at her, and simply held out a small phial, gesturing for her to take it.

Hermione eyed the phial wearily making no move to accept it. Rolling his eyes, Rowle uncorked the bottle, offering it to her again. "It's a pain potion. I'm sure you'll be wanting that."

Reluctantly, Hermione reached out and took the phial, smelling it first. When she was quite positive that it indeed smelled like a simple pain potion, she tipped the liquid into her mouth. Tasted like pain potion, too. Rowle held out another phial, and she raised an eyebrow.

"House brew. You got hit pretty bad, you know."

Hermione paused a moment, debating on the unknown potion. In the end she decided that if Rowle had wanted to harm her, he'd had ample opportunity, and he likely wouldn't choose poison. She took the potion and tipped it back.

It was foul.

"What happened?" she asked, wincing at the lingering flavour.

"I was going to ask you that, actually."

Hermione shuddered as she recalled the events that apparently led her here. "Bellatrix," she finally said, though her heart rate had increased and was now steadily trying to beat itself out of her chest.

"I got that. Draco fire-called me last night, middle of the damn night like some nutter, saying that _you_ had messaged him, and his mad aunt had something to do with it. I got down to the cells as quickly as I could, and there was no guard on duty, which was an obvious red flag. Once I got to your cell, I found you unconscious. What happened?"

"She came and… she wanted to kill me," Hermione said quietly.

"Crazy bitch nearly did." Rowle turned, placing the empty phials on the bedside table, before settling himself on the side of the bed.

"I—She came into the cell, and I think she was already angry about something—"

"The Dark Lord dismissed from dinner last night. She was being a cunt waffle, and he called her on it," Rowle said, a small smirk playing on his lips at the memory.

Hermione ignored his obvious enjoyment of offensive language. "Well, she came to see _me_ and decided that she was done with my existence. She said some really foul things, and-" Hermione swallowed, remembering the pain of the night. "She really does love to _Crucio_ people, doesn't she?" she said, feeling strangely removed from the situation as she spoke of it.

"One of her favourites," Rowle nodded.

"Anyway, she was going to, I don't know, cut me to death? Because _that_ seems reasonable." She rolled her eyes heavily before continuing. "But she decided that wasn't enough. I wouldn't _suffer_ enough. So she used a spell I haven't heard before. At first, I thought it didn't work because I didn't feel anything—nothing happened. But then," she shuddered, "Then the pain began. It felt like my body was…"

"Shutting down?" Rowle offered.

"Yeah," Hermione said, wide-eyed.

"That's exactly what was happening. She developed that little curse during the first war. I'm actually surprised she used it on you though, the amount of magic it takes to properly cast—well it can be harmful to the caster as well. I wouldn't be surprised if she was laid up in bed taking potions herself." Rowle furrowed his brows, apparently confused by the woman's actions.

"Well, she was pretty angry by the time she used that one…" Hermione trailed off.

"You provoked her?" Rowle asked, raising one eyebrow and smirking.

"I wasn't going to die without a fight," Hermione shrugged. "I just—I've been practising my wandless magic."

"I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you!" he said, laughing and running a hand through his hair. "What did you do?"

"Well first, I didn't let her _Crucio_ me a second time—I threw up a _Protego_ , and waited until she let her guard down. And then I threw one back at her."

"A _Crucio_?"

" _Sectumsempra_ , actually," Hermione said.

"You _what_?! Did you get her? Salazar's sack, witch, no wonder your core magic was so fucking depleted!"

"Well, it didn't work very well. Barely scratched her, as far as I could tell. But it really made her mad, and—"

"And that's why she pulled out all the stops. That curse would have certainly killed you, but it usually doesn't take effect that quickly—she uses it because it causes days of agony. It probably worked so quickly because you depleted so much of your core magic." Rowle leant forward and opened the bedside drawer, pulling out something she couldn't make out. It only took a moment for her to realise it was an elastic—he pulled his long hair into a knot at the back of his head, grinning at her when he saw she was watching. Hermione blushed and looked away.

"You owe me a life debt, doll," he said smugly.

Hermione bristled at this, but couldn't deny it. He did save her life. She took a deep breath, and shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "I owe a lot of life debts."

"How many do you owe to Death Eaters, though?" he smirked.

She scowled, not answering him.

"You are not going to have an easy time of it, you know." Rowle shook his head and stood from the bed.

"Oh, I would have never guessed. I thought this had all been the Ritz so far," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"The what?"

"Muggle phrase, nevermind," she waved her hand in the air, dismissing the question.

"Alright… well, I have to go, and you need to rest. Lucky for you, the Dark Lord is off on business for a few days. You'll be fine to stay here and heal up," he said, walking across the room and coming back with several more potion phials. He placed them in the drawer next to the bed, leaving one on top of the little table. "You'll need to take one of these every six hours."

"What are they?"

"Between your organs nearly shutting down, and using so much of your magic with those wandless spells, you've really done a number on yourself, doll. This is a special brew we make here; more than a few Death Eaters have been in need of it over the years. Snape's own recipe. Actually, this one might have even-" he paused, lifting the little phial and examining the label, "Yup, this one was made by the man himself."

"Snape made that? But what is it?" she asked, not exactly comfortable taking more potions she'd never heard of.

"It will help replenish your core magic. Don't tell me you can't feel it, like an icy hollowness settled into your chest," he said, bringing his hand to his own chest, indicating the exact location that Hermione was indeed feeling pain.

"You've had to take this before?"

"It's not all sunshine and roses, this Death Eater business," he winked at her, and turned, crossing the room.

Hermione watched as Rowle donned his robes, pocketing a few items before crossing back to the bed.

"Like I said, you'll be fine here, for now. No one actually knows you're here, and I'm going to keep it that way for as long as possible. I'll be back later tonight, and then we need to talk about what's going to happen."

Suddenly nervous, she shrank down a little. "I can't go back in those cells. She'll just come back once she realises I haven't died."

"No, you can't," he said, shaking his head. "You don't have a choice anymore, Hermione, you've got to listen to reason."

Hermione was shocked to hear Rowle use such a serious tone. Not that they'd spoken much, but each time they had, he was anything _but_ serious.

"I'm not—"

"Time's up, doll. You aren't the first one to face a 'join or die' ultimatum."

"I won't just—"

Rowle put up his hand, speaking over her. "Tonight, doll. I have to go," he said, opening the door. "I'm warding the door— _both sides_. No entry, no exit, so don't try anything funny. I'll be back. Sleep," he ordered, pointing at the bed and waving his finger at it. "There's potions in the drawer."

Hermione crossed her arms, and let out a _hmph._ She really hated being ordered around. She also hated being cut off. Who was he to think that he could just order her around? Wiggling down into the covers, Hermione seethed for a moment, before begrudgingly easing her expression.

_He saved your life, Hermione._

Groaning at the thought, she closed her eyes and sunk even further beneath the covers, not taking for granted the immense comfort she found there. The first actual non-camp bed she'd been in in months, and she couldn't even fully enjoy it, because it was in a stranger's room, in Death Eater headquarters, and she was half dead.

The beds in the tent weren't that bad, really. They weren't anything like this bed, but they were leagues above a stone floor in a cell with only two thin blankets. This bed was near perfection, actually. It was one of the biggest beds Hermione had ever seen. She stretched both of her arms out to the sides and spread her legs as wide as they would go, yet she still couldn't feel the edges of the bed. _This_ was a bed for sharing. The tent beds were so small that she and Harry hardly fit in one together. Not that that stopped them—even on nights they weren't freezing their limbs off, they ended up cuddling anyway because there just wasn't room not to.

That thought made her miss Harry. The couple of weeks it had been since she'd last seen him felt like ages and she missed him _terribly_. She rolled to her side, slowly curling into a ball, and when the movement caused the blankets to fall over her head covering her entirely within them, she didn't bother to resurface.

Thinking of Harry hurt her heart. She still wasn't sure where he even was—didn't know if he was safe, or with the Order, or on the run alone. Wherever he was, he was probably worried about her. Hopefully Draco had been able to contact the Order, or at least get Snape to do it. Merlin, it had only been two weeks since she'd been captured. How did two weeks feel like such an eternity?

Hermione sat up a little, peeking her head out of the cocoon of blankets for a moment to look around the room for a fireplace, and quickly spotted it across the room. Rowle had likely shut off access, but she would have to check for sure in a bit. Once she was able to move without feeling like death was knocking. She slowly lowered herself back down, glancing at the little side table with the potions and— _What?! Her necklace!_ She nearly shrieked when she saw it and shot her hand out to grab the little coin. She did shriek when her body rejected the quick movement and sent painful spasms radiating from her core into every part of her body possible.

"Ugh," she said aloud, a tear escaping at the shock of the pain.

She reached again for the coin, much slower this time, and pulled it to her before she sunk back into the bed. It was hot, and as soon as Hermione flipped it to view the surface, messages began appearing.

_Are you ok?_

_What happened?_

_Please answer me!_

_Hermione! What happened?_

ROWLE! Fucking contact me you fuckwit!

Hermione frowned a little at the messages, wondering if Rowle had contacted Draco at all yet. She was honestly a little surprised that he hadn't just shown up to find out for himself, but then again, Draco was much more sensible than that. Even if you put aside the actual logistics of getting from Hogwarts to here—which would have been near impossible, without either access to the Headmasters Floo or a Portkey—his showing up would cause a lot of questions, and likely just get her killed all the sooner. She had read about the blood wards most pureblood families used. Narcissa and Lucius would both know the moment he set foot on the property.

Even so, she felt her heart sink a little that he wasn't here, however foolish it was.

It only took one try for Hermione to be fully aware of just how depleted her magic really was. She had thought she could send a simple quick message to Draco letting him know she was alright, and Rowle was… doing whatever he was doing— " _taking care of me"_ made her feel kind of gross, but really, he was, wasn't he? She thought that she would be fine doing that, but apparently, she had thought wrong. When she reached in and tried to pull her magic out to send that simple message, she nearly blacked out.

Hermione had read about core depletion before, she knew the effects, but she hadn't realised she was that bad. It would take days of potions and rest before she would be able to use magic again, and that was _with_ a wand, which she didn't have. Who knows how long it would be until she could start practising wandless again.

Unable to do anything else, apparently, Hermione decided she might as well try and help the process along. She carefully and slowly leant over again and opened the drawer where all the potions were. She saw several neat little phials that looked identical to the one she had taken earlier, but there were also some that were filled with the unmistakable light blue of a Sleeping Draught.

Hermione grabbed one of those, uncorking and tipping it into her mouth. She hardly had time to put the stopper back and place the phial on the table before she began to feel the effects of the potions. Her eyelids grew heavy, and leaning back into the pillows, she let them fall closed, welcoming the sleep that she so desperately needed.

xXxXxXx

When her eyes opened again, Hermione knew she'd been asleep for quite a while. She felt rested for the first time in a long time, but her body had that slept-too-long ache and her eyes strained to adjust to the brightness. Though, that could just be an effect of being in the utter darkness of the cell for far too long. Raising a tentative arm over her head, she stretched out her sore muscles and blinked several times.

"Ahh, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up."

Hermione ignored him, and shut her eyes again, hoping she could fall back asleep. She'd been having the most wonderful dream—her, Harry, Ron, everyone, they were all back at the Burrow on a beautiful summer day, with nothing more to worry about than what to have for lunch and who would have to de-gnome the garden next.

"Sorry doll, you can't actually hide from me when I know right where you're at," Rowle said, chuckling. Hermione felt a dip on one side of the bed and groaned.

Pulling the blankets down so that her face was exposed, she was not surprised to see the man sitting on the edge of the bed, smirking at her.

She glared.

"You're a right friendly one when you wake up, aren't you?"

"If I answer, will you go away?" she asked.

"Sorry, no can do."

Hermione groaned again and watched as Rowle pulled a potion phial out of the drawer. She reached her arm out of the warmth and comfort of the blankets to take it when he held it out to her, already uncorked. She drank it down, handing back the empty.

"You were supposed to take one of these every six hours, you know. How do you expect to heal if you don't even take the potions?"

"I've been asleep more than six hours? What time is it?" Hermione knew she'd slept for a long time, but longer than six hours? She hadn't slept that well since she'd been captured.

"It's eleven," he answered.

"At night?!"

"Yes," he laughed, pulling the blanket a little further from her face. "Let me see your chest. I healed it last night, but that fucking blade of hers, sometimes the wounds need a little extra work."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She still didn't trust this Viking of a man and felt rather weary exposing _any_ part of her body for him. He only stared back at her though, and after a moment, Hermione pulled the collar of her shirt down, exposing the raw skin of her chest.

"Hmm…" he said, looping a finger into the collar and gently tugging it to further expose the wound. "Well, it's healing, but I think it's going to take a little longer than I thought, and I'm sorry to say, but it's going to scar." He frowned, meeting her gaze as he brought his hands back to rest in his lap.

"What's one more," Hermione sighed, pulling the blankets back over her body.

Rowle remained silent for a few moments, and Hermione felt awkward as he looked her in the eye. He finally stood, walking across the room to a small table and picked up a tumbler of what she assumed was firewhisky. He also summoned a second glass, filling it with water, before walking back to the bed, and handing the latter to Hermione.

"Thank you," she said, gratefully taking the water.

Rowle let her drink the water in peace for a moment but spoke as soon as the glass left her lips.

"You'll be fine here for a few days. As far as I know no one even noticed your absence today. Which makes me wonder about the dungeon staff, but that's beside the point. We have to figure out something before the Dark Lord gets back."

Hermione groaned, not wanting to think about what happened next for her. She just wanted to enjoy this brief moment of respite before things were sure to go to Hades again. "Helping me plan my escape?"

"Hardly. I fancy living, believe it or not. No, we need to plan what _you're_ going to do in regards to staying alive. I'm sure you recall the 'join or die' sentiment we discussed earlier."

"Go ahead and kill me, then. I won't join." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly, and fixed her gaze over Rowle's shoulder, not making eye contact.

"Can't do that, princess. Too many people would be after my head if I killed you."

"What do you propose, then?" she asked, looking him in the eye and glaring.

"Join, obviously," he said dryly.

"I've already said—"

"I know what you've bloody said, witch," he growled, standing up. "Listen, you can take a couple days to wrap your head around it, but once you're healed up a bit more, we are going to have to talk about this."

"And what exactly is it we are going to discuss?" she asked coolly, trying not to let her voice betray her nervousness.

"Your becoming a Death Eater, that's what. Now scoot over," he made a shooing motion with his hands, gesturing her to move to the other side of the bed, and the tone of his voice told her that particular aspect of the conversation was now over.

"What? Why?" Hermione asked, feeling her stomach sink. She knew this had been too good to be true. There was no safe place for her anymore, and she should never have let her guard down. She began mentally going over every self-defence move she knew—which, admittedly were very few.

"You're the size of a bloody wood nymph, and I'm not sleeping on that chair again," he gestured to the chair in front of the fireplace, "when there is plenty of room in this bed for the both of us to sleep comfortably."

He must have seen the look on her face, because he exasperatedly added, " _Platonically_ ," with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione was frozen for a moment, not sure what to do. Rowle gestured with his hands once more, encouraging her to scoot over, and then hooked his fingers in the hem of his shirt and pulled it smoothly over his head. Hermione was suddenly faced with the most incredible set of abs she had ever seen in real life, and she immediately blushed from head to toe. He obviously saw it, because he gave her a wicked smirk before speaking.

"Or we could cuddle if you don't want to move." He chuckled when she made an indignant gasp and began to scoot quickly to the other side of the bed.

When Hermione saw him undo the button on his trousers though, she squeaked. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm not sleeping in my bloody trousers, doll."

"You can't sleep in here with no clothes on!" she practically shouted.

"First of all, I've got my bloody pants on; I'm not naked. Second, you're free to sleep in the chair if you don't like it," he said, chuckling as he began to unzip his trousers.

Rather than continue to argue with a nearly naked man, Hermione loudly groaned and rolled over, facing away from Rowle, and scooted as close to her edge of the bed as physically possible. She felt a slight dip when he got in, but he was right, it was a massive bed and they likely could both stretch out fully without coming into contact with each other.

"Goodnight, princess."

"I'm not your bloody princess!"

Rowle chuckled and Hermione heard him whisper, " _Nox."_ The room was suddenly only lit by the dim embers of a dying fire, and Hermione found she quite welcomed the darkness.

xXxXxXx

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had quite a few questions about the spell Bella used, _Desero Penitus_. 
> 
> Yes, I made it up for this fic. It roughly translates from Latin to:  
>  **Desero-** quit, give up, abandon.  
>  **Penitus-** deep within, inside.
> 
> So, roughly, *very roughly*, Internal Organ Failure/shut down


	30. Pissfuckery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85  
>  **A/N:** Alright guys. We have finally hit that point, unfortunately. This is my last chapter that I was ‘ahead’ on. I have half of 31 written, but it’s slow going. Hubby has been doing a ton of overtime lately, and what that means is that instead of getting to go have quiet writing time today, I’m typing this with children crawling all over me and asking things like “How do you say butt in spanish?” and “When we go to outer space, can I bring my dolly?” 
> 
> So things are not nearly as productive as they have been. I’m trying though! I’m really hoping I can keep up with the Tuesday updates but at this point, I’m not sure if that’s feasible. 
> 
> **Anyways,** I hope you enjoy this chapter! I promise you all this is still a Dramione— we’re just getting to know Rowle a little better. I adore you all! Your comments mean the world!! THANK YOU!!
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

**Pissfuckery**

 

Hermione found herself startled awake the next morning— _ had she really slept all night? _ —by Rowle’s swearing.    
  
“Merlin fuck,” he whispered, before sucking air in through his teeth.    
  
Groaning, Hermione rolled over. “What?” she snapped. Finally being able to sleep again was really something she could get used to. Being rudely awoken by a loud wizard with a foul mouth was something she could do without.    
  
“Bloody trying to do this shit in the dark so I don’t wake you, jam my shin into this damn table, and all I get is your snipping at me? Fuck that.” 

Hermione suddenly had to blink her eyes against the brightness that lit up the room. “Seriously?” She groaned again, throwing the covers over her head. 

“Aww, are you upset that you slept through the part where I was in a state of undress?”    
  
“You have issues.” 

“Sorry, doll. Can’t hear you,” he said, chuckling.    
  
Hermione huffed and threw the covers off a little more aggressively than she’d intended. She sucked in sharply when the chilly air hit her skin, and reached out for the blankets again, only to let out a startled cry when they were yanked from her entirely.    
  
“Rowle! What is your problem?!” she shouted at the man now smirking at her, his wand still aimed at the bed.    
  
“I let it slide yesterday since you were half dead and all,” Rowle said, straightening his robes and tucking his wand into his pocket. “But you stink. Today your job is to shower.”    
  
Hermione was a bit taken aback at the remark but didn’t say anything because he was probably right. It had been— _ Merlin _ , it had been ages since she’d had a proper shower. Cleaning charms and water splashed on her body only went so far.    
  
“Take your potions and get your butt into that shower. I have some things I need to do today, but I should be back in a few hours.” He moved to the side of the bed and opened the drawer, pulling out the potions and uncorking them. Rather than handing them across the bed to her, though, he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, indicating that he wanted her to come get them. 

Hermione stayed put.    
  
“Let’s go, doll, I don’t have all day.” 

She eyed him for a moment, before rolling her eyes and crawling across the bed to take the potions. She tipped both bottles into her mouth at once and handed them back to Rowle.    
  
“Good girl.”    
  
“I am not a dog.” 

Rowle laughed and deposited the empty bottles in a little bin. “I will be back shortly. I expect you clean, dressed, and fed,” he pointed to the table across the room where a plate of food sat, “by the time I get back. You may not be a dog, but I’m not above hosing you off.” 

“Are we going somewhere?” Hermione asked, having taken note of the time limit he’d given her to complete said activities. 

“We need to talk, little witch.” His tone was serious again, and Hermione had a sinking feeling about the conversation ahead. 

Rather than stirring  _ that _ cauldron, Hermione moved on to another issue.    
  
“You need to contact Draco. He sent me about a million messages, some of them quite vulgar, though those were actually for you… Anyway, you need to tell him I’m alright before he has a hernia.”    
  
“What in Salazar’s name is a hernia?” Rowle cocked an eyebrow at her.    
  
Shaking her head, Hermione waved the question off. “Muggle thing. So?” 

“I’m headed to the Owlry first thing this morning.” He winked at her and opened the door.    
  


xXxXxXx

Rowle had left without any additional explanation. Just a quick, “shower,” coupled with a pointed expression, and he was gone.  Hermione had sat on the bed staring at the door after it closed for longer than she cared to admit, but was finally enticed into obedience by the lure of a hot shower. 

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid off—eager to wash months of grime from her skin—and made her way toward the bathroom. Once inside, she shut and locked the door, wishing for more than a manual lock. She still didn’t have her wand and while she didn’t expect anyone to come barging in she would feel more comfortable if she could at least ward the door.    
  
Turning to face the room in front of her, she let out a short gasp. The bathroom was  _ much _ more grandiose than she was expecting. Everything was done up in a white marble and looked very posh. There was a large sink and mirror in the centre of the room, and a toilet tucked into a tiny little closet of a space to the right. There was even a sliding door to separate the toilet from the rest of the room. On the left was probably the largest shower Hermione had ever laid eyes on as well as a tub that would fit at least three people, maybe more. 

The shower was encased in glass from floor to ceiling. There were three shower heads, and Hermione could hear each one of them calling her name. She quickly undressed, unceremoniously leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor. Stepping into the shower, she turned the knobs, adjusting the water until it was just shy of scalding. 

Stepping under the first shower head Hermione nearly cried at the feel of the water on her skin. 

_ Months. It had been months since she’d had a shower. _

She threaded her fingers into her hair, gently taking the elastic out and massaging her scalp. This shower was not going to be taken for granted. She may be safer and with a few more freedoms here than she had been in the dungeons, but she was still a prisoner, and there was no telling when she would get this luxury again. So she savoured it.    
  
The noises she was making were nearing inappropriate and Hermione found herself extremely glad that Rowle was out. Groaning at the thought of their conversation topic for when he returned, Hermione tried to shake it from her mind, instead searching out the shampoo and soap.    
  
She lathered her hair up, scrubbing her scalp with a bit more hostility than was likely required. Next, she reached for the conditioner, putting glob after glob into her dry and tangled locks. It took several long, painful minutes, but she eventually was able to comb her fingers through without ripping hair from her head. She rinsed and repeated the conditioner for good measure. Once her hair was dealt with, Hermione found the soap and began to wash the grime from her skin. 

It took her a moment to place the pleasant smell of the bar soap—tobacco. Her nose always wrinkled at the smell of cigarettes, but tobacco, as nature intended it, was a lovely smell; woodsy with hints of juniper and citrus. 

Her skin was nearly scrubbed raw by the time she was satisfied with her state of cleanliness. Hermione stood under the water for several long minutes, eyes closed, and mind blank. She felt like she could stay in the shower forever. It was preferable to the talk that Rowle wanted to have. Preferable to being sent back down to those hideous cells. Preferable to being tortured by Bellatrix again. Certainly, it was preferable to quite a variety of the things she had been or would be subjected to here. But all too quickly, Hermione found her body was too tired to continue standing, and she knew if she sat down there was a high likelihood that she would fall asleep. 

And after everything she had been through, if her obituary read  _ Brightest witch of her age dies by drowning in shower,  _ she would have to find a way back to the living, just so she could die again with a better story.   
  
Instead, Hermione turned the knobs off, squishing the water from her hair, and opened the glass door. She grabbed one of the neatly folded white towels and wrapped her hair up, then took a second towel and began to dry her skin, before stepping out of the shower entirely. After a brief moment of contemplation, Hermione stepped over her dirty clothes and made her way to the door. 

She paused, double checking that Rowle hadn't returned yet. When the coast was clear, she exited the bathroom and walked to the large dresser in the room, opening the top drawer. 

Hermione’s mouth slowly formed into a pleased smile when she was meet with an overly organised drawer full of boxers and socks. 

She let out a small laugh. “By colour? Really? I was not expecting that.”

Hermione picked out a plain black pair and tried not to think too hard about it as she slipped them on. Her options were borrow, dirty, or none—unfortunately, borrowing these were the best of the choices. 

She closed the drawer and moved down to the next, smiling again when she found plain t-shirts, also organised by colour. She picked black again. 

The next dresser contained trousers and jeans. After moving several pairs aside only to find more of the same, Hermione closed the drawer. 

The bottom drawer contained the last items she searched for. 

“There you are,” she said, smiling at the pairs of what appeared to be gym shorts and sweatpants. 

Rowle was quite a bit bigger than Draco, so she dug around until she found a pair of shorts with a drawstring in the band. She pulled them out, stepping into the shorts and tying them tightly around her hips. Satisfied, Hermione closed the drawer and walked to the table. 

She hung both her towels over one of the chairs and sat down in the other. Finally having conditioned her hair, it was fairly easy to comb her fingers through the tangles and then braid, leaving it hanging over her shoulder. The thick braid was making a wet spot on the shirt but Hermione hardly noticed. She was focused on the breakfast assortment in front of her. Digging in, she only paused to wash mouthfuls of the food down with the orange juice on the table. 

After she had finished far more than she really  _ should _ have, Hermione leant back in the chair, resting her hands on her belly. Being full really was a feeling like no other. Entirely satisfying, but also incredibly uncomfortable. Closing her eyes, she sat for a few moments in the silence of the room, letting the food settle.    
  
She was nearly launched out of the chair in fright when a little  _ pop!  _ echoed across the room. Hermione whipped her head around, looking for the source of the sound, and quickly discovered that she was no longer alone. A little house elf stood near the door, smiling at her.    
  
“Miss.” The elf lowered her head and quite formally brought one hand to her front and one to her back, sandwiching herself in a bow so low Hermione thought she might topple over. 

“I’s be Calliste. I not be bothering you, Mister Rowle’s be tellin’ me the sheets need changin’, that’s all I do.”    
  
“Calliste, like the Haliad nymph? Given to Euphemus by Triton?” Hermione asked, feeling a smile creep across her face. It had been a while since she had used the very large portion of her brain dedicated to storing what many would call useless facts. Using it again felt good.    
  
“That be the one, Miss,” the little elf said, nodding. She then turned away from Hermione and stepped toward the bed. One hand on her hip, Calliste snapped her fingers once and the sheets on the bed moved to a pile at her little feet. Another snap and fresh sheets began to spread themselves across the mattress, corners tucking in and creases smoothing out. One last snap and the pile of sheets disappeared while the pillows simultaneously fluffed themselves.    
  
Callista looked over her shoulder at Hermione and nodded. “I’s be on my way now.” 

“Oh, no wait, why don’t you stay? Have some tea?” Hermione gestured to the chair opposite her. She really wasn’t even trying to win the little elf over or convince her of her rights, she just desperately wanted some company.    
  
For all her prim and proper bowing and what not before, Callista looked completely taken aback and flabbergasted now. “No! Miss, no!” She violently shook her head, backing away from Hermione with her hands up. “Elves not be sitting with witches or wizards, never!” Her voice was panicked.    
  
Hermione tried to settle the poor thing down but she didn’t even get a chance. With another  _ pop! _ Callista disappeared on the spot, leaving Hermione staring after her with guilt pooling in her stomach.    
  
She hated when they reacted like that. Knowing that the elf was working here in Malfoy Manor turned that guilt into fury, though. Hermione was sure that the poor thing had been punished before, and she realised that if the little elf were to be found accepting an offer like the one Hermione had made, she would most certainly be punished again. Shaking her head, Hermione stood from the chair and walked toward the bed. 

If she ever made it out of here, she planned to get a job at the Ministry. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was calling her name, and she intended to overhaul the whole thing. 

That, however, was a thought for another day. First, she had to focus on finding a way out of this mess. 

Crawling into the fresh sheets, Hermione’s guilt about the little elf disappeared. There was something about a shower, a hot meal, and fresh sheets that could wash away worries, at least for a time. She curled herself into the comfort of the bed, suddenly feeling quite exhausted from her morning. Truth be told, she felt like absolute rubbish; apparently, core depletion felt like a cold, mixed with the flu, topped with the exhaustion of imprisonment and torture. She was ready for a nap, though it had only been two hours since she’d woken up. 

So what if it had only been two hours. Hermione didn’t care one bit and was content to snuggle down into the massive bed and fall back to sleep. 

xXxXxXx

Draco had hardly been asleep for two hours when he felt his wand buzzing, the alarm he set going off. 

  
“Bloody hell, not already,” he said, groaning.    
  
It only took a moment for the adrenaline to set back in though, and Draco was shooting out of bed so fast his head spun. Balancing himself briefly, he looked around the dormitory. The other occupants were still sleeping,  _ lazy buggers. _

He quickly grabbed fresh clothes and headed into the bathroom. Splashing water on his face, and using a cleaning charm on his teeth, he threw on his clothes, checking his reflection in the mirror, and was ready and out in less than 3 minutes.    
  
Tired-as-fuck wasn’t his best look, but it could be worse. He shrugged at his reflection and headed out of the dorm quietly. 

It was a bit of a walk to get to the owlry—really it was a bit of a walk to  _ anywhere _ from the dungeons—but he didn’t mind. His nerves were on fire with worry, and the feeling was less than pleasant. Malfoy’s didn’t  _ worry _ . 

But fuck if he wasn’t worried about Hermione.    
  
Once he made it to the owlry he grabbed a piece of parchment and quill from the box by the door and quickly wrote a letter to Rowle. 

_ That arsehole better respond ASAP,  _ he thought, watching the school owl fly out through the window _. _

xXxXxXx __   
  
  


The day had gone by agonisingly slow. Draco sat through his classes having to pretend that nothing was wrong, which, in all fairness, wasn’t that difficult. He sat with his usual sneer and snapped at anyone who interrupted his thoughts, and no one was any the wiser. It paid off being a complete arse sometimes. 

When he’d had no owl by dinnertime, though, he was worried and thoroughly pissed off. What the fuck was Rowle doing that he couldn’t send one bloody fucking owl to let him know his—Hermione,  _ not _ his anything, just Hermione—was doing alright?    
  
No, that fucker hadn’t responded yet, and it was driving Draco mad. He was tempted to head up to Snape’s office after dinner and get more of the Floo powder, since he’d used a bit more than strictly necessary last night in his haste, and didn’t have enough for another call.    
  
He had nearly talked himself into it when he was snapped back to reality with a sharp punch in his arm.    
  
“What the fuck?” he said angrily, turning his head to see who was sitting next to him. 

“You’ve been zoned out all day, Malfoy. You’ve got a broom up your butt, and Potter isn’t even here. The fuck is up?” Theo said, raising his eyebrows.    
  
Draco glared. “We need to talk, Theo.”    
  
Theo gave him a questioning look. “We  _ are _ talking, Draco.” 

Draco shook his head, pushing his hardly touched plate away and standing. “No, tonight. Alone,” he said low enough that only Theo would hear him. “Career counselling,” he added pointedly.    
  
Theo’s expression darkened and he sat up straighter. “You’re not going to—”    
  
“Tonight.” 

“Fine.”    
  
Draco nodded, turned from the table, and walked out of the Great Hall. 

“Potter isn’t even here,” he heard Blaise comment to the others but didn’t bother turning around. He just didn’t care right now, and there would be plenty of opportunities to put Blaise in his place later. Right now he just wanted to get back to the dungeon and figure out how to bloody find out about Hermione without arousing suspicions. If he drew too much attention to her, it would only serve to get them both in trouble. 

xXxXxXx

It had been a day full of pissfuckery, and Draco was beyond over it. After most of the other Slytherins had gone to bed, Draco and Theo sat in the corner of the common room, enclosed in a silencing charm, and Draco told him what a fucking twat he was being.    
  


_ “You’re more of an idiot than I thought if you think volunteering is going to make things easier for you,” he said, glaring at Theo.  _ __   
__   
_ “It would be better to volunteer than to be forced—you know the shit that happens if he thinks you aren’t loyal.”  _ __   
__   
_ “Theo, no.” Draco shook his head tiredly. “This is not something you want. Think of Daphne. You two need to disappear as soon as school is over. Shit, leave  _ now _ even. You both already know more than you’ll ever learn here. Get out, get away,” he nearly pleaded.  _ __   
__   
_ Theo seemed to consider his words for a moment but eventually shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You know I couldn’t leave you here.”  _ __   
__   
_ “Fuck me, Theo. I’m already a lost cause. You and Daphne can still get out of here. You can still escape this!”  _ __   
__   
_ “I’m not leaving you, you fuckwad. That’s not our thing.”  _ __   
__   
Draco had known then that trying to convince Theo to leave would be a lost cause. Hell, if he were being honest with himself, he’d known that before they even sat down to talk. He and Theo, they had a long history, and leaving each other when things got rough wasn’t part of it. Memories of a broken Theo staying at the Manor after his mother had died and his father couldn’t pull himself together enough to even feed his son came swimming to his mind. Of eight-year-old Theo flooing over in the middle of the day, bloodied and terrified, after his father had beat him again—that had been the day Narcissa insisted Theo call her mum. Memories of himself, breaking down in front of Theo when his father’s expectations became too heavy. The summer they both spent in the guest house on the edge of his property, when both their fathers had taken to regularly beating their children in some fucked up attempt to handle their own shit. And then after Draco had taken the mark and Theo was the one who stayed by his side as he recovered—the one who had made sure Narcissa was eating and sleeping when she was too distraught to manage herself.    
  
They were brothers, and brothers didn’t leave when things got rough.  

_ “You’re a fucking dipshit. Finish school first, wait until the summer at least, Theo. We will figure something out. If anyone asks, say that you want to wait until after school so that you can fully dedicate yourself, without distraction.” Draco said sighing, resigned to Theo’s stubbornness.  _ __   
_   
_ __ “Fine. But once we graduate, I’m joining you. You aren’t in this alone, Draco.”

Draco still thought he was being an idiot and was determined to figure something out that would prevent Theo from facing the same fate that he was. The things he’d had to do—he would never forgive himself for the pain he’d already caused, and Draco knew that in all reality, it was just the tip of the iceberg, so far. Being in school had gotten him out of a lot of things thus far, but once he graduated, once he was available to the Dark Lord at all times, Draco knew it was going to get a lot worse. He didn’t want that for Theo. 

But apparently, Theo was a stubborn prick who wouldn’t listen to advice.    
  
The common room was quiet now, everyone else having gone to bed at least an hour ago. Draco sat in the large armchair near the fire, staring into the flames absently, trying to figure a way to get Theo out of this. He was so lost in thought that he startled when an indignant hoot came from the room. He spotted the unfamiliar owl struggling to get through the owl entrance—the damn thing was huge, and apparently stuck. Draco quickly headed over and helped the bird through the bird door, only earning a harsh peck to his hand for his efforts. 

The bird dropped an envelope at Draco’s feet and took a flight around the common room, stopping at the door back to the castle. Shaking his head, Draco followed him, rolling his eyes at the creature.    
  
“Not risking another trip through the owl entrance, then? Here you go, you dumb bird.” Draco opened the door, letting the owl out, and shaking his head after the thing.    
  


He didn’t waste any time heading back to the chair with his letter. The envelope was scrawled with his name on the front and he quickly tore it open and began reading.    
  
_ M, _

_ She is fine, safe, and healing. It was close, though. You’re lucky you have such a handsome, brilliant, quick-thinking friend (me). The Lady in question has agreed to cooperate, and the Puppet Master will soon have another puppet.  _ __   
__   
_ Best,  _ __   
__ R   
  


Draco sat back in the chair, the breath whooshing out of his lungs as relief flooded him. She really was fine, and somehow, that fucking arsehole wanker had managed to convince her in one day of something Draco hadn’t managed in a week.    
  
He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch him or hug him. 

xXxXxXx __   
__   
  


Once classes were over the following day Draco made his way to the Headmasters office. Talking out loud about resistance to the Dark Lord was not a risk-free endeavour in Hogwarts, where many of the portraits were watching and reporting to the man himself, but Draco had promised Hermione he would try. 

He made his way up the staircase and knocked on the door, entering when he was called.    
  
“Mister Malfoy,” Snape said, raising his eyebrows slightly, questioning his presence.    
  
“Headmaster,” Draco replied. He moved to the seat at the desk and sat down when Snape gestured to the chair.    
  
“What can I help you with this evening?”   
  
Draco thought carefully about his word choices as he responded, hoping that Snape would understand.    
  
“I am having a problem with Professor McGonagall, Sir.” 

“Oh?” Snape eyed him, suspicious. 

“Yes, Sir. She has been openly concerned about the student who did not return this year. Granger, in particular, is clearly missed. It is quite distracting and I personally feel that The  _ Order, _ ” he emphasized the word, “Must be kept, in a classroom. I am  _ positive _ that the missing students are alright. She should focus more on helping those who did show up. We are the ones who need an  _ escape plan _ .”    
  
Draco finished and sat staring expectantly at the headmaster. He couldn’t say much more than he already had, for fear of being reported on by the damned portraits. Hopefully Snape would understand and get the message to Professor McGonagall, who could tell the rest of the Order.   

“Mister Malfoy, your personal problems with professors are not of my concern. If you wish to run a classroom differently, become a professor. Otherwise, focus on your studies.” Snape said coolly, dismissing Draco.    
  
“But Sir—”

“I will have a word with Professor McGonagall about proper  _ Order _ within a classroom. You are dismissed.” Snape glanced up at the portraits, some of which were clearly listening in, and then back at Draco.    
  
_ Signal received, Headmaster, _ Draco thought, gathering himself and walking from the office.  _ The Order will be notified.  _ He walked back to the dungeons feeling a little lighter. At least he had been able to fulfill that promise. 

xXxXxXx


	31. Life Debts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** I wasn't sure if this update would make it on time, but I did it! Plus, I've just finished chapter 32 so I am one chapter ahead again! Hopefully, I can keep this momentum and get a good couple chapters ahead and have that cushion again! Thank you all so much for your fantastic reviews and encouragements! 
> 
> I had a couple people ask about Rowle's note to Draco last chapter, and how why he said he had her when she hadn't agreed yet. It was because of the Life Debt. Rowle knew that she owed him that Life Debt and that if needed, he could force her. 
> 
> Shoot me any more questions and your predictions and thoughts in the comments! SO much love to you all!!! 
> 
> xoxo, Luce

 

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

**Life Debts**

The door hadn't even closed yet when he started speaking. "Alright witch, get up."

Hermione groaned quietly but stayed put. She was sure she had been on the cusp of falling asleep and had no interest in dealing with Rowle right now. Especially a very loud Rowle, who was hardly a foot into the room, already demanding things of her.

"I know you're awake and we've got things to talk about, so you can either get out of the bloody bed right now, on your own, or I will help you out. And trust me, you don't want my help with that."

"You're such a—ugh!" Hermione grudgingly rolled over and scooted to the edge of the bed, gently lowering her legs until she was standing. The shower that morning was amazing, but it had exhausted her, and the pain in her body now was apparently the price she had to pay.

Though, she wasn't exactly complaining. That shower had felt like an answered prayer, and completely worth the aches and soreness she was now experiencing.

"I see you took my advice and showered," Rowle said, smirking at her as he took his cloak off and hung it on the rack.

He moved toward the table, so Hermione followed him, sitting herself down in the chair opposite him.

"I didn't realise it had been advice. Sounded more like an order to me," she said, sticking her chin out in defiance.

"And you've borrowed some clothes, too." He winked at her.

"Well what would the point of showering have been if I scrubbed away the filth only to put it back on again," she snapped feeling defensive.

"Merely an observation, doll. Don't get your knickers in a twist. Although…" he considered her for a moment, a devious smirk spreading across his face. "Are you even wearing knickers?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione immediately blushed bright crimson, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away from him. "I don't see how that is any of your business!"

"Oh, calm down. You are so easy to rile up, you know that?" he said, laughing. "Tea?"

"Wha—" Hermione looked back at Rowle, thrown off by the sudden change in topic.

"Would you like some tea?"

"I… alright."

"Calliste," he called.

 _Pop!_ The little elf from that morning appeared in the room, bowing deeply.

"Master Rowle be calling for Calliste?"

"Hermione and I would appreciate some tea, please."

Hermione's jaw dropped open in shock.

"Certainly, Master." She smiled, bowed again, and with another _pop!_ she was gone.

Hermione's jaw was still open when she returned a moment later, holding a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Thank you, Calliste. That will be all." Rowle accepted the tray from her, placing it on the table.

"Yous be calling if yous be needing me, Master." Calliste bowed again and was gone.

"Hermione, you're acting like you've never seen a house elf before." Rowle was pouring the tea into the cups, shaking his head at her.

"I've seen plenty of house elves before. What I haven't seen is a pureblood treating one so… humanly?" she finally managed, confused, and though she wouldn't admit it, a little awed.

Rowle shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping his lips as he set the tea in front of her. "My mother had quite a soft spot for the elves."

He didn't elaborate, and Hermione didn't know what else to say, so she settled with "Oh," and picked up her tea. Curious though, she saved that tidbit of information, tucking it away for later.

They were silent a moment, Rowle staring at Hermione, and Hermione doing her best to ignore him. It didn't last though, and soon he was putting his cup down, and raising his eyebrows at her.

"Alright then, we've got some things to discuss."

Hermione didn't answer but she did bring her eyes up to meet his gaze.

"You owe me a life debt and I will call it in if I have to."

Hermione remained silent.

"Don't make this so fucking hard, witch. It will be much better all around if you just agree to do what needs to be done," he said.

"What, agree to be a Death Eater?" she snapped back, her anger and fear finally bubbling over.

"Yes, obviously. It's literally the only way you won't die here."

"Maybe I would rather die, then." Hermione put her tea down, crossed her arms again, and turned her head away, not wanting to face this decision, and trying to hide the tears of anger and frustration threatening to spill over.

 _Would she really rather die? Obviously, she didn't_ want _to die, but would it be better than the alternative? Better than being forced to join the Death Eaters? To fight against the Order?_ As her mind circled around the questions, hysteria was slowly making its way up her chest. She could faintly hear Rowle continuing on, apparently unaware of her growing panic. She managed to catch the end of whatever it was he was saying.

"It's really not as bad as whatever you're thinking."

"Not as bad?" she said, narrowing her eyes at him. Her voice was tight and angry. "Not as bad? You mean killing people isn't that bad? Torturing _isn't_ _that bad_?" Her hands were shaking and her breath was coming in short gasps; it felt icy in her chest. "How is my life any more important than the life of the innocent people you're killing?"

He was silent at that.

Hermione was fuming, however. How could he think she would go along with a plan to save her life when it surely involved taking the lives of others? _No. I cannot do that. I won't do that!_

Rowle sighed heavily and set his cup down on the table. He rubbed his hands on his face before drawing them up and through his hair. His expression was tired and a little sad.

"Alright, doll. You want the truth? Here it is. It can be pretty fucking bad. It tears pieces of your soul apart and makes you wonder if you should just give up—if it would be better to just jump into one of the curses thrown at you, instead of away from it. You'll question your sanity and your humanity. You'll have days you wish you were dead." He paused, letting the words sink in. "But you'll also have days that are normal. If you play your cards right, you'll even have days where you have an opportunity to do some good."

"You cannot be trying to tell me that being a Death Eater means 'doing good'," Hermione deadpanned at him.

"There are some really bad Death Eaters, Hermione, don't get me wrong. Many… most of them enjoy the torture and the killing. But there are a couple of us who don't. A couple of us who faced the choice you're facing now. _Join or die._ It's not like you can just say 'no thanks' to the Dark Lord. I can't stop the torture and killing, it would bring my own death if I tried that. But I do what I can, and today, that means saving your life. You _will_ be killed if you don't make the right decision here, Hermione. I won't let that happen. I have a chance to _save_ a life today rather than end one, you better believe I'm going to take that option."

"I don't think you're supposed to use a Life Debt in order to save the life of the person who owes you the debt." Hermione wiped an escaped tear from her eye and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling defeated.

"What's your middle name, doll?"

Confused, she cocked her head at him. "What? Jean, why?"

"Hermione Jean Granger-Lestrange, I Thorfinn Balder Rowle am calling in the Life Debt you owe me."

Hermione's jaw dropped open, and she felt a little tug on her still sore magical core. For a brief moment, she considered just saying 'no', but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she was pulled from her chair by an unseen force and fell to her knees in front of Rowle.

He chuckled. "You can't say no to a Life Debt, doll."

Hermione narrowed her gaze at the man, even as the magic was tugging harder and harder at her core. "You son of a bitch," she said through her teeth as another tear slid down her cheek.

Rowle abandoned his chair to kneel in front of her, wiping the tear from her face.

"I would rather not complete the Life Debt ritual, doll. That kind of magic can be seen by some, and it would be safer for you if it appeared you came of your own free will," he said, tilting her chin up so that she was looking him in the eye.

Hermione nodded, more tears spilling down. She felt the little string pulling at her core magic release, and realised that it had been pulling her toward Rowle's core magic. Once released, Hermione sunk even further toward the floor, defeated. She knew she would have to join, and while she may be able to accept that logically it was her only option, emotionally she was struggling with it.

"Oh shit, don't do that, please. I'm not well equipped to deal with tears."

Hermione felt two strong arms hoist her up and back into the chair. She didn't resist.

Rowle knelt in front of her again and spoke softly. "I'm not going to have to use the Life Debt, am I?" he asked.

Several silent moments passed by before Hermione took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

"No."

xXxXxXx

"My Lord, welcome back."

"I trust things have been running smoothly in my absence?" the Dark Lord said as he laced his fingers together in front of him.

"For the most part, my Lord."

Raising his eyebrows, the man looked at him pointedly, and he knew that he would have to word his response carefully to avoid penalty.

"And what exactly did _not_ go smoothly, Rowle?" he said coldly.

"There was a slight problem with the prisoner, my Lord, but it has been taken care of. I hope you will be pleased with the results." He bowed his head slightly at the man in front of him.

"Explain."

"She was injured, my Lord."

"And how did she become injured?" he asked, seemingly uninterested.

"Bella, my Lord," he replied.

"I gave her implicit instructions that the girl was not to be harmed."

"You did, my Lord."

"I will have to deal with her disobedience," he said. "Where is the girl now?"

"I have been bringing her back to health, my Lord. She will live, though it was close. In doing so, I have convinced her that she would be better off with us. It wasn't that hard. Apparently, the lure of getting to know her father and," he paused, purposefully letting a smirk cross his face, "The lure of the power and wisdom she would be granted here apparently far outweigh whatever misguided thoughts the Order had her believing."

Thorfinn watched for the Dark Lords reaction, hoping he had worded it just right. After a moment, one corner of the man's mouth drew up slightly and Thorfinn knew he had managed it.

"She has a thirst for power?" he asked, intrigued.

"She has a thirst for knowledge, my Lord. The kind of knowledge she will never learn with the Order. _Dark_ knowledge," he said, wickedly smiling.

"I did not think she would be swayed so easily," the Dark Lord said, smoothing his robes before looking directly at Thorfinn and narrowing his eyes. "She is in your charge, Mister Rowle. Her failings will be your failings, and you will both be punished should she disobey. She could be a great asset to us, and I do not doubt that she has been lured by the offer of Dark Magics. However, she is the best friend of the Potter boy, and I do not believe that two weeks away from the Order will have changed her morals. You will use your time to teach her all of the Dark Magic her heart desires, but you will not become complacent or let your guard down. Until she proves otherwise, she is still a member of the Order and is not to be trusted."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Come back to me when she is fully healed. I wish to talk with her myself. Until then, you are excused from further duties unless absolutely necessary. I am sure dear Narcissa would be happy to… watch over the girl, if you must be away."

Letting out a small chuckle, Thorfinn nodded. "A babysitter," he said.

"A babysitter," the Dark Lord agreed, humour playing across his face.

Rowle nodded again, bowing to the man in front of him. He turned on his heel and left, not letting the smile of success cross his face until he was far away from the room.

xXxXxXx

It had been five days since Hermione had agreed to… _not_ complete the Life Debt ritual. She still couldn't bring herself to say that she was agreeing to become a Death Eater. Although that's exactly what she was doing, she supposed. Rowle wasn't forcing her. He had given her a choice—technically. She was _choosing_ to stay willingly. Choosing to not be forced to stay through old magics that would forever bind her to Thorfinn Rowle.

That was still a choice, right? Either way, she had to stay. At least this way, she chose the conditions of her parole.

Rowle had come back early the day after she finally agreed, saying that he had spoken to the Dark Lord and that she was fine, for now. He said that while the Dark Lord didn't trust her one bit, he did more or less trust in the lure of dark magics, and thought Hermione might come around if she were just given enough shove.

Oh, and Rowle also said that he was her new babysitter. Time off _work_ and everything. So they had been spending every waking moment together since then.

She almost missed the cell.

Hermione inhaled sharply at the thought, mentally berating herself for thinking such a thing. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the slow rise and fall of the blankets where Rowle's body was buried, clearly still asleep.

Steeling herself for the chill of the room, Hermione quickly scurried from her warm spot in the bed into the bathroom. Locking the door and undressing, she made her way into the large shower, groaning as the hot water hit her body.

Showering had become the highlight of her days. Half the time she even took a second shower in the evening, just because she could. After months of being on the run with Harry, and then that damned cell, if there was hot water available she was going to use it.

Going through the motions of washing her hair and body, Hermione's mind wandered again. There was one thought that kept coming back to her. It was scary, and it would be hard, but it would be _something._ It would be _doing something._

If she went along with this plan—not just because she was being forced to, but if she really put her all into it, if she did her best to _infiltrate_ the Death Eaters and trick them into thinking she really was one of them—when she did get back to the Order, she would have so much valuable information.

She would have to do a damned good job of it though. She knew they wouldn't trust her. Not for a long time. She would have to… she would have to take the mark. Hermione grimaced at the thought and brought her left arm up, running her fingers over the pale skin there. It was difficult to imagine what it would be like with a mark there. Not just a mark, but _the_ mark. The Dark Mark. On her skin. Because she would be a Death Eater.

She was selling her soul to the devil if she went through with this. There would be no coming back. Even if—when, _when_ she made it back to the Order, she would be changed. She would have done things that she might not be able to be forgiven of. She would have to torture and kill people. She was sure of that. There was no way they would trust her one bit if she didn't prove herself in that way.

Shuddering at the thought Hermione turned the heat up until the water was scalding her. She welcomed the pain. She would likely have to get used to pain. Being a Death Eater would not be easy in any sense.

A nervousness washed over her, almost a panic. Could she do it? Could she actually _kill_ someone? Take their life? All because a madman told her to? Shaking, Hermione backed up against the wall and slid all the way down until she was sitting on the shower floor. She pulled her knees into her chest hugging them tightly to her.

Compartmentalise, Hermione, compartmentalise.

She was going to have to put her old self away. The Hermione that was Harry's best friend, the one who helped first years find their way to class, the one who tried to be kind, and followed the rules, and the Hermione who didn't bloody kill people—she would have to be put away.

Hermione would have to turn off her emotions and just let herself do what must be done.

She was going to have to figure out exactly _how_ to do that.

Maybe she could talk to Draco somehow. He obviously managed—sort of—to keep himself sane while doing this. He might have some pointers for her. Or Rowle… she really wasn't sure about him yet.

As Hermione's mind descended into the specifics of how she was going to pull this off, she finished her shower, dried herself off, and plaited her hair.

She was going to be the best bloody spy ever.

Hermione left the bathroom and crossed the room to the closet cursing herself for not grabbing something and bringing it into the bathroom. Rowle appeared to still be sleeping—hopefully he would stay that way.

Opening the closet, Hermione groaned quietly at the selection in front of her. Narcissa had clearly been the one to pick the items. Dresses. They were almost all dresses. There were two pantsuits, but the trousers were so long she would have to wear the ridiculous heels that had also been brought, and that was not going to happen. So Hermione reached for the simplest dress available—a blush, three-quarter sleeve, knee length dress that Hermione would consider wearing to afternoon tea with the Queen, but would instead be lounging around this room in. If she ever got to pick her own clothes again, she was going straight for the jeans.

Hermione dashed back to the bathroom and put the dress on behind closed doors. She took a quick glance in the mirror and begrudgingly thought that even if the dress was much too fancy, it did make her figure look lovely. It somehow hid away the sharp angle of bones that were poking out all over and the emaciated appearance that she had taken on after the last several months with so little food.

Returning to the room, Hermione sat at the table and quietly called out for Calliste, asking the little elf to bring some breakfast. By the time Hermione had eaten through her bowl of fruit and yoghurt, Rowle was stirring awake.

"Good morning," she offered watching him stretch and roll out of the bed.

"Morning doll, breakfast without me?" he asked, sauntering over to the table and sitting down. He reached across and grabbed a piece of bacon off of her plate even though the serving dish full of food was right in front of him.

"One, get your own. Two, could you not be bothered to even put trousers on?" she asked swatting his hand away as he reached for her melon.

"And deny myself the opportunity to see you blush? Never." He smirked at her, taking the moment of her shock to grab for the melon again, popping it into his mouth.

Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes, but pushed her plate toward him. She shrugged at his raised eyebrows. "I've finished anyway."

Rowle chuckled pulling the plate toward himself and picking at her leftovers before adding more food to the dish. He ate for a moment, thanking Hermione when she poured his tea after adding more to her own cup. She sipped at the tea as he finished his breakfast.

"So what is on the schedule today?" Hermione asked when he had finally put the fork down.

"Eager, are you?"

"Honestly, a little. I've not been able to do much studying or using my mind at all these past several weeks and I would really like to get back to learning something," Hermione admitted.

"More Occlumency today, doll."

Hermione sighed but nodded her head. She would need to be more or less the best Occlumens ever if she wanted to trick the Dark Lord. At this point, she knew she was good, but she had a long way to go before she would be comfortable lying to the man's face.

"You're not going to like it today." Rowle paused, taking a sip of his tea.

"Oh?"

"You're good, doll, very good. But you've got to be good under pressure and pain. And you aren't there yet."

"I assume today isn't about being under pressure, then." Hermione sighed, before continuing. "Do you ever become immune to the effects of a Crucio?" she asked, nervous for the pain.

Rowle let out a short humourless laugh. "Not yet doll, and I've been getting them since I was a kid."

Hermione paled, her heart aching for the boy that Rowle was, getting Crucioed, likely by his own father. She couldn't imagine.

She steeled her nerves before pushing back from the table, standing and primly brushing the creases from her dress in her nervousness. "Alright then, let's get this over with," Hermione said in a voice that sounded much braver than she felt.

"You really are a piece of work, doll." Rowle stood as well, and smiled at her briefly before pointing his wand and quietly murmuring, "Crucio."

xXxXxXx


	32. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** Alright lovelies. Caught up last week, fell behind again this week. Hopefully I'll finish the next chapter this week, but my oldest kiddo is turning 4 and we are celebrating the next 3 days, which are usually my writing days. I'll be stuffing my face full of cake and chocolate covered marshmallows and parading around doing unicorn things, because those are the things dream are made of… if you're 4.
> 
> Anyways, I really really cannot express enough how much your comments and kudos and love mean to me! I am blown away that this story has so many follows & faves! And 236 comments! WHAT? I LOVE YOU ALL AND I'M SCREAMING AT YOU IN SHOUTY CAPS BECAUSE YOU'RE ALL THE BEST!
> 
> Xoxo, L

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

**Running**

 

Stretching her limbs and blinking her eyes Hermione gingerly rose from the bed. If the light from the little window was any indication, it was still quite early. A quick glance around the room told her that Rowle was not currently there. Which was strange. He was always there.

Hermione made her way out of the bed and to the bathroom—her daily ritual now. Wake up and head straight to the shower. Undressing and getting under the hot water was heavenly. Though her body seemed to be fully healed from Bellatrix's lovely little curse, Hermione ached all over from other things now.

Namely, Rowle's continual cursing for the Occlumency training they had been doing. She was finally excelling at combating his Legilimency while under "distress" as Rowle liked to call it. In this case, distress meant torture. Light torture—friendly torture, if that was a thing. Whatever you called it, Hermione could now keep someone out of her mind while simultaneously in a hefty amount of bodily pain. It wasn't easy, but she was quite proud of how far she'd come in such little time.

At least her Occlumency was improving.

It turns out actually _using_ Dark Magic was harder than it appeared. Not only harder in practice but harder on your body as well. Especially if you were mentally rejecting it like she was. You had to _feel_ the magic, is what Rowle said, and she, apparently, was not feeling it. Dark Magic was more than the knowledge of _how_ to perform the spell and doing it physically. It was deliberate and emotional, fueled by the heart and the mind together, and it had to come from within.

She was still working on the _within_ part.

In the days since he had bargained with her and convinced her to accept the situation she was facing, they had been doing a lot of training. After that first time she had tried to use a Crucio and then subsequently realising she would have much more work to do than your average Death Eater, Rowle had been training her in _theory_ more so than practice. In between her Occlumency-torture sessions, they had been studying the origins of Dark Magic, Dark Magic throughout wizarding history, and wizards (and witches) who had 'gone dark'.

All in all, Hermione was feeling like it was rather obvious that she just wasn't cut out for this Death Eater business. She was a bit torn on that feeling, however. She was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age. She could learn anything, right? She should be able to become proficient at anything given enough studying. But at the same time, did she really _want_ to become proficient at Dark Magic?

The few times she _had_ successfully used it—just doing minor spells—she could feel it coursing through her. The darkness was palpable. It was a very different feeling than you get when doing Light Magic.

She knew she wasn't in the right headspace for Dark Magic, and no matter how hard she studied, it would never come out right if she couldn't get into that headspace. And that was dangerous. Dark Magic was very unpredictable—risky even, when not properly controlled. And Hermione was far from being able to properly control it.

No, Hermione was clearly not your typical Dark witch, but she had to figure out a way to get there. She would never be able to convince the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters that she was on their side if she couldn't even cast a proper Crucio.

Hermione finished up in the shower and walked into the main room, mind still focused on the last few days. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she got all the way to the wardrobe before she noticed that Rowle was sitting at the little table, chuckling at her. She sharply sucked in a breath and gripped her towel around her tighter.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she gasped, trying to hide behind the door of the wardrobe.

"I'm not sure what you mean, doll," Rowle said snickering. "I'm just trying to enjoy my coffee. It's not my fault you think walking around starkers while I'm here is appropriate."

"I wouldn't have come out if I knew you were here!"

"Get dressed, Hermione. We are doing something different today." Rowle nodded at the wardrobe. "Wear something you can run in."

"What?"

"Running. You know, the physical act of moving your legs in a manner that causes you to move at a faster pace than walking?"

"But why?" she asked, peeking her head around the door of the wardrobe.

"Because physical activity is good for you." Rowle smiled as he said this, but it looked more menacing than anything.

"Narcissa only has dresses in here, Rowle. Dresses and pant suits. Unfortunately, I can't run in those." Hermione's tone was sarcastic and she shrugged her shoulders, not the least bit sad about this.

To her horror, Rowle stood up and walked toward her. Gripping the towel tightly around her body once more, Hermione put on hand up in the universal signal for 'stop'.

He did not.

Rowle walked right up to her, inches away from where she stood. He reached around her into the wardrobe, taking a pair of trousers and a blouse from hangers inside the wardrobe.

"Lucky thing we've got magic, then." He tapped the items and transfigured them into what appeared to be stretchy black pants of some sort and a simple t-shirt. Hermione couldn't really tell what exactly she was holding, but Rowle's smirk worried her.

"Go put those on."

Hermione would have stayed to argue, but as she was wearing only a towel, she decided to just do as he said and save the arguing for when she was clothed.

She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later with a deep scowl on her face. "Could these pants be any tighter, Rowle?" She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm sure I could arrange that, doll." He laughed and stood from the table. Hermione watched him walk to the dresser and open a couple drawers, pulling out some clothes for himself. He began to pull his shirt over his head but Hermione turned around before she saw anymore.

He laughed out loud.

Hermione stayed firmly put until Rowle came around and stood in front of her, his hands splayed out in front of him. "I'm decent, doll. Although, if you ask me, I'm quite decent without clothes, too," he said, smirking.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Rowle held out his hand to her, palm up, clearly waiting for her to take it. She eyed it for a moment, before meeting his gaze and raising her eyebrows, silently questioning the act.

"I'm not parading you through the manor just yet, doll, and we can't very well be running circles in my bedroom."

When Hermione's expression did not change and she made no move to take his hand, he sighed. "I'm apparating us out."

Hermione considered him briefly before reaching out and taking his hand. He didn't wait a moment before she felt the familiar tug of apparition. When she next opened her eyes they were outside, and she welcomed a breath of the fresh crisp air of nature for the first time in weeks. She inhaled slowly, deliberately taking in the moment, letting it wash over her. It felt like such a relief being outside; she hadn't realised how much being cooped up indoors for so long had been affecting her.

Glancing around, she saw nothing familiar. They were surrounded by trees and greenery; a lush garden to one side and a lake to the other. In the near distance, she could see what she assumed was Malfoy Manor.

She looked back at Rowle. He was smirking at her, and stretching one arm across his chest, holding onto it with the other. Raising his eyebrows at her he held his arm out. "Ladies first," he said, winking.

"Feel free to explain any time now," she said irritably. This was not at all part of the routine they had developed in the past several days, and that was causing her to feel very out of control—in a situation where she had very little control to begin with, losing any at all made her feel panicky.

"You're quite intelligent, Hermione. You've nearly learnt everything about Occlumency that I can teach you. Your knowledge of the theory of Dark Magic is becoming vast. However, actually _using_ it—you aren't there yet. Now, I know you've been in several battles with Death Eaters, but honestly, you haven't seen anything yet."

Hermione started to argue but was cut off when Rowle put his hands up and shook his head. "Let me finish, let me finish. You have been in several battles, yes. Think back to those battles, however, think not about the magic you were using, but about your body—how your body reacted to the energy you had to exert." He paused a moment.

Hermione did as he asked, confused, but ever the proper student.

"Now, tell me. Were you out of breath? Were your limbs tired? Did your sides ache?"

Hermione thought honestly before begrudgingly nodding, realising his intentions and reasoning.

"And those were relatively short, easy fights, Hermione. If you want to _not_ get killed, you need to have stamina. You need to be physically capable of doing the work. Not to mention the fact that Dark Magic is harder on the body, it takes more effort to use… Plus, I mean let's be real, you've spent the better part of a month locked up in a cell, or recovering in bed. And before that? You were what, galavanting around with Potter, camping and otherwise lazing about?"

"We were not lazing about! We were—" She stopped before she said too much. Hermione hadn't been able to help herself though. She huffed indignantly and crossed her arms. "We were _not_ lazing about!"

"Oh? Because to me, hiding out in the countryside is the _definition_ of lazing about."

Hermione scowled at him but had no more to say. It wasn't as though she and Harry had had any sort of exercise schedule. In fact, the most exercise they had really done had been to walk the perimeter of their campsites setting the wards. Keeping her mouth tightly shut, Hermione continued to glare at Rowle. No matter if he was right, she did _not_ appreciate being called lazy.

"As I was saying, you need to be physically fit as well as magically fit, doll, and you just aren't there yet. So, in order to build your stamina, you're coming running with me."

Not exactly how she'd envisioned captivity, but honestly, if she looked past the fact that Rowle was a bit of a—well, a rude word she didn't feel like repeating, even in her mind—if she looked past that, he was right, she supposed. It would only serve her well to be physically able to keep up with everyone else. Plus, she would have to be extra… Everything, if she planned on trying to outsmart the Death Eaters during battles. And then there was the bonus that she got to spend time outdoors in order to do this...it really wasn't a terrible idea.

"Fine," she conceded, pulling her hair back and wrapping an elastic around it.

"Alright then, let's go!" Rowle was enthusiastic and chipper. Neither were emotions Hermione would pair with the prospect of running.

Before she could say anything in response, he was running away from her. She sighed once before moving her feet, catching up and settling into a rhythm along side him. It was obvious he had set his strides so that she could follow—she easily slipped into place with him and the two jogged in silence, following a little path that appeared to wind around the lake.

Much to Hermione's dismay, it wasn't long before her body began to give up on this new-found activity. Her lungs felt constricted, each breath sharp and shallow. Her legs and sides burned where the neglected muscles protested the abuse. She pushed herself as long as she could but was quickly doubled over, hands pressed into her sides, and gasping for air.

Rowle had slowed down as soon as she lost the pace, and was quietly standing next to her, clearly not suffering any of the aches she was currently enduring.

Through punctured gasps for air, Hermione looked up at the man standing next to her, questioning him. "How often do you torture yourself with this ridiculousness?" she heaved.

"Every day until you came along," he said, chuckling.

"Quit enjoying my eminent death, Rowle!" she hissed, but quickly joined him in his laughing. He was right, she really was out of shape.

"I didn't think I'd be _this_ bad," she admitted once she was able to stand upright again.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You have been imprisoned for several weeks. Not to mention nearly killed just a week ago. And I don't suppose being in perfect shape was your top concern while you were on the run." He shrugged and pulled his wand out. There was a small scrap of what looked like fabric stayed around the base of it. He separated the two pieces before transfiguring the small fabric into a blanket, placing it on the ground in front of them.

"I had a feeling we wouldn't last long today." He explained as he laughed and gestured to the ground, "Let's sit."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but truthfully she was more annoyed with herself. She hasn't realised how out of shape she was and having it shoved in her face right now stung a bit. Not that she could really blame herself, because Rowle was right, it had been a bit of a shit month. And then being on the run with Harry, she really hadn't had any time to exercise, and… well, it had been a good long while since she'd put her physical health in the forefront. Maybe this would be good for her.

Or maybe it would kill her.

They sat together in silence for a while, just taking in the scenery around them. It really was a lovely bit of property. Trees everywhere, flowers, the lake. Honestly, Hermione decided that this really wasn't such a bad idea. Anything that would make her stronger, in the end, would be worth the pain and suffering now, wouldn't it?

After a while, she adjusted her body so she was more properly facing Rowle and took a deep breath. If she was going to do this, now was as good a time as any. She had to get to know all the pawns in this game, if only so that she could play it better when the time came.

"So what is your deal then, Rowle?"

"My deal?" he asked, looking at her as though he knew exactly what she was after, but wanted her to work for it.

"Why are you here? Why are you training me?"

"The Dark Lord told me to."

"So why did you rescue me, then? He wasn't aware of my… need, when you came, and I can't see him bothering to care even if he did know."

He shrugged. "Malfoy asked me to."

His answers were short and left everything to the imagination. It was a bit frustrating, actually. She would, apparently, have to pry every bit of information from him by hand, so to speak. Change of tactic, then.

"You're being ridiculous, Rowle. I'm sleeping in your bed for Merlin's sake, the least you can do is talk to me."

"Maybe if you were doing more than actually _sleeping_ in my bed—"

At Hermione's indignant gasp and sudden slap on his arm, he put his hands up, trying to calm her. "I'm joking, Hermione! Salazar, witch!"

"That's not very funny, Rowle." She primly crossed her arms and almost imperceptibly leant her body away from him, distancing herself as best she could.

"It was a little, you have to admit that," he said, laughing. "Alright, alright. What is it exactly that you want to know?"

"Why did you come that night, to rescue me?"

"That was an honest answer. Because Malfoy asked me to."

Hermione only raised her eyebrows, not content with that answer. She waited a moment, and sure enough, he continued.

"Malfoy and I, well, hmm...how do I explain us?" He sighed deeply and tore a long blade of grass from the earth, running the length of it through his fingers as he thought. "I'm not sure what Draco's told you, but being a Death Eater obviously isn't sunshine and roses. Him and I, we've taken a lot of shit because we are the youngest. We get the crap jobs that the more senior members don't want to get their hands dirty with. I think we are also held to a bit of a different standard because we _are_ young. We haven't been around since the beginning, and there are certain members who can't handle that. They think that they are being replaced, and the competition to remain in favour, to remain the favourites, is just too much for them. They don't play fair." He sighed again, dropping the grass and running a hand through his hair.

"So they target you?" Hermione ventured, hoping he would continue.

"Yes." He nodded and paused a moment before continuing. "Draco and I are constantly on the receiving end of their jealousy and fear. Which, you know, we are Death Eaters, so obviously we didn't sign up for a playdate at the fucking park, but…"

"But neither of you really signed up for it, did you?" Hermione tilted her head and gave him a sad little smile.

"No," Rowle confirmed what Hermione had guessed several days ago. "Drafted."

"So is your father here, then?"

"Nah, he died a couple years back."

"Oh. I'm sor—"

"Don't be." Rowle stopped her before she could even finish. "Don't be sorry. The entire world is better off."

"What about your mum?" Hermione asked quietly. She had a feeling she knew the answer to this but wanted to know for sure.

"Mum died when I was a First-year. They say it was an accident, but those kinds of accidents happen a lot to the wives of Death Eaters. If you ever make it off this leash, you'll notice that Narcissa is the only one who's made it all these years."

"Why is that?"

"The Dark Lord adores her," he said, chuckling. "If anyone ever laid a hand on her… well they wouldn't last long enough to even know what hit them. He would go through the veil and bring her back himself if he had to."

"That's—are they…"

"No, no, no, it's more… he adores her like a sister or a pet. It's strange, but, well, Narcissa has this charm, and somehow she's got even the Dark Lord under her thumb, just a bit. Good for her, really. I think it's kept Draco safe a few times."

"Hmm," was all Hermione could think to say at first, and then softly, "I'm sorry about your mum, Rowle."

He smiled the smallest smile at her and picked up the blade of grass again. "She was really great. She was kind, which, I don't know how she ended up with my dad—well, arranged marriage is how, but anyway, she wasn't on board with all of this," he said, looking out toward the manor in the distance. "She was too accepting of people, and that just didn't fit in with the standards around here. I didn't really figure that out until later. Once I did though, I figure every decision my father made was a wrong one, so I just tried to do the opposite. There are things I obviously couldn't avoid, but—well, that's enough of that. Malfoy and I, we have a similar distaste for our father's morals and ideals. And Bellatrix finds us both unbelievably satisfying to curse. I suppose you could say we bonded over crappy fathers and Crucios."

He chuckled without humour but Hermione could not bring herself to feel anything but pity in that statement. How incredibly sad. But it also gave her a little insight and made sense. They didn't have to have a whole lot in common or have a certain type of friendship when they'd bonded over something like that. She felt like she understood why Rowle dropped everything in the middle of the night when Malfoy asked him to.

"Rowle—"

"You can call me Finn, actually. The people who call me Rowle—they look at me and see my father. And I am not my father." He paused briefly, tossing aside the grass. "My friends call me Finn. My mum called me Finn," he finished quietly.

Ignoring the tug that last bit caused at her heartstrings, Hermione said, "I am literally your prisoner. I'm not sure what you've learnt of friendship, but surely you know prisoners do not equate to friends."

"We can be friends, you know. I mean, I know it's not an ideal situation, but you can't go at this all alone."

"Watch me," she said in her most menacing voice.

"Hermione," his tone was almost reprimanding.

Hermione didn't say anything right away. She just regarded him, her mind spinning. She hated it, but he was right. She really would have a hard time—harder than necessary, at least—with no one to lean on. And there were still six months until Draco graduated. _If_ she lasted that long, and that was a big 'if', then she surely did not want to do it alone.

After at least a full two minutes of a heated stare contest between the two, Hermione finally conceded with one word:

"Finn."


	33. It's a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Hello, friends! I somehow managed to finish this chapter on time! Though, next week's is questionable… Haven't even started that yet. Anyway! Thank you all so much for your comments! They exploded last week and it was amazing! I love all your support you wonderful souls, you!
> 
> A few questions have popped up along the way that I'll quickly answer.
> 
> Rowle is a few years older than Draco and Hermione, around 22. They did go to school together, briefly.
> 
> This **is** still a Dramione. Everyone worried about Finn can rest assured that Hermione and Draco **will** end up together.
> 
>  

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

**It's a Date**

The sudden knock at the door surprised them both, but Hermione was the only one to physically react, splashing her tea over the edge of the cup and nervously looking at the door. Finn, on the other hand, gently closed the book he was reading, slowly stood up and stretched his arms over his head. He looked at Hermione and chuckled softly.

"Jumpy one, aren't you?"

"I think you would be jumpy, too, if you'd spent time tortured and locked in a cell, and were now just waiting around for someone to decide to come and kill you," she snapped in a hushed voice, eyes darting between his body and the door.

"Relax, Hermione. No one is coming to kill you. Not on my watch."

Hermione huffed, crossed her arms, and most certainly did _not_ relax. Her muscles were tense as she watched him cross the room toward the door. He waited another moment before opening it.

"Rodolphus," he said.

"Rowle," came a now familiar voice. "I want to see my daughter."

Hermione tensed up even more than she had been if that were possible. She was not ready for this. It's not like she hadn't met the man already, but that was before… before she had a role to play. Now she would have to act a certain way and make him believe things that weren't true, and she really wasn't even sure what those things were yet. She still had to make a plan, build up this person she was supposed to be now. She was sure she wouldn't be able to manage it unprepared as she was.

Hermione began to shake slightly, terrified that Finn would step back and let Rodolphus into the room, and she would mess up whatever chance she had at making him believe her ruse—it would all be over. Her chance to get back to the Order would be gone, she would be thrown back into that cell, or worse, given to Bellatrix as a play toy and tortured horribly before the mad woman finally lost it and just killed her. She could not let that happen, she had to make this work!

She frantically began to try and think through details of her story, why she was suddenly turning her back on the Order, what she could possibly have going on in her mind to make her accept and welcome these changes. Her heart was racing and her hands were trembling.

Hermione was pulled out of her panic slightly when she heard Finn speak again.

"Bad timing, Roddy. She's actually asleep right now."

"Let me in there, Rowle. I want to see her! You can't keep her from me and I know that's what you're doing!"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. This was going to happen—she was going to have to face Rodolphus.

As she watched Finn, waiting for him to open the door, she was surprised to see him pull his wand out. Rodolphus would not be able to see it from where he was; the way Finn had opened the door, just a crack, and was using his body to block the view into the room, Hermione knew that Rodolphus would have only a solid view of Finn's body and nothing more. She watched curiously as Finn flicked his wand—but nothing happened.

"She is still recovering from the aftermath of your lovely wife, Rodolphus. Healing a body from near complete organ failure is a lengthy process and causes one to be extremely lethargic, as I'm sure you're aware." Finn's voice was steel and seething, Hermione noted.

"She should be better by now, unless you aren't properly caring for her, Rowle. She shouldn't even be in your care, it's improper!" Rodolphus nearly growled his response, and Hermione's fingers tightened around the armrests of the chair.

Curiously, Hermione noticed Finn moving his wand again. Only this time it was like he was using it to point at something. Hermione followed the tip of the wand as he jabbed it in the direction of the bed. The bed, which had been made only moments ago, was now surreptitiously un-made, the covers pulled down a considerable amount.

It only took her a moment to realise what he wanted. She quietly but quickly stood, crossing over to the bed and crawling in, pulling the covers up so they left only her hair visible. Her breathing was laboured, though not from the sudden movement, but the adrenaline coursing through her. She tried to slow her breaths so that it would look like she really was sleeping and rolled so her body was turned to face away from the door.

"Have a look," Finn said in a voice that made Hermione remember just what he was—a Death Eater who was not to be crossed.

It was silent for a moment, save Hermione's breathing, which she was sure could be heard all the way in America.

"As you can _clearly_ see," Finn said in a low voice, "She is, indeed, sleeping. Bellatrix did a number on her, after weeks of imprisonment and months of malnourishment. A healthy body heals much quicker than an already ill one, Rodolphus. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do today. Things that don't involve you insulting me and suggesting that I am doing anything more than healing your _daughter_ from your _wife's_ near-fatal cursing."

His voice made Hermione's blood run cold. It's not like she'd known him that long, but she had never heard Finn's voice take on that malicious tone, and she knew without a doubt that he was not a wizard whose bad side she wanted to be on. She was immensely glad that tone wasn't directed at her and was instead being used to defend her.

"I want to see her, Rowle. When she's able, I will be talking to my daughter. If you put a finger out of line, I will—"

"Thank you for stopping by, Rodolphus. I will notify you when she is healthy and ready to meet with you." Finn cut him off, his words leaving no room to wonder—he was finished with that conversation.

"I won't hesitate to bring my concerns to the Dark Lord, Rowle." Rodolphus growled again.

After a moment, Hermione heard the door shut and Finn warding it. Another moment, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling at the covers. Hermione tossed them down and sat up, a newfound respect for the wizard in front of her settling into her chest.

"Thank you," she said, feeling the fear slowly leaving her.

"You aren't ready for that yet." It wasn't a question but a statement. He knew she wasn't ready to face Rodolphus.

"No." Hermione shook her head.

"Alright. Today we are going to figure out your story. A lie based in truth is the most believable. So why are you here, Hermione Granger. What is keeping you here?"

They spent the next several hours plotting out and memorising Hermione's reasons for being there: Her desire to know her father, where she came from, her thirst for knowledge that was withheld from her simply because it was considered Dark, her curiosity at what it would be like to be treated as the Pureblood she really was, her fear in returning to her friends only for them to treat her differently once they found out who her parents were and ultimately, how this would all lead to her eventual defection from the Order.

It worried Hermione that there was truth in some of those statements. That she really was incredibly nervous about what her friends would think of her once they knew Rodolphus was her father. How they would react when they learned she had been using Dark Magic, that she _willingly_ took the Dark Mark and everything else that came along with being a Death Eater.

How much she really was interested in at least _learning_ every aspect of Magic, Light _and_ Dark. She had been reading books from the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library for years now and they often mentioned—though without detail—aspects of Dark Magic, and it would be a lie if she said she'd never been curious.

But on top of all that, if they accepted her parentage, her curiosity, even her eventual use of Dark Magics, she was nearly positive that they wouldn't accept whatever it was she had with Draco.

Harry, she wasn't worried about. At least, not _that_ worried. He was her best friend and she knew he would come around. Ron, however, she was positive would _not_ come around. The Weasleys as a whole would likely have a very hard time accepting him. Sirius and Remus—well, she wasn't sure about them. But overall, the Order would likely not be willing to welcome Draco with open arms. Even though he was technically one of them. Even though he had been spying for them. They wouldn't be able to look past what he had done—who he pretended to be.

After hours of talking, thinking, and making plans, stories and lies for herself, Hermione was done. She didn't want to think anymore. She didn't want to worry and be fearful. She wanted to let it all go.

Pushing herself back from the table, Hermione stood up. "Finn, let's go for a run."

xXxXxXx

Sweaty, sore, tired, but mind empty, Hermione showered and dressed in her night clothes. She returned to the main room and found Finn tidying up their little table— _when had she started to think of it as 'theirs'?_ He looked up when he heard her open the door and smiled.

"Feeling better?"

"Much," she said, smiling back.

"Alright then, more training, or bed?" he asked.

"Bed. I'm tired, and I just want today to be over. We can train again tomorrow." Hermione crossed over to the bed and pulled the covers on her side down, crawling in.

Finn shrugged, crossing the room to the bed as well. He pulled off his shirt, tossing it to the basket nearby.

Hermione watched him get into the bed, placing his wand on the little nightstand.

"Finn, when do you think I can have my wand back? I mean, all the time, not just for brief moments while we're training."

He sighed. "I'm not sure, Hermione. I can't just let you have it, you know that. We have to keep your cover, at all costs. That means not having your wand, unfortunately. My guess is once you've met with the Dark Lord, and he trusts you, he will suggest you get your freedom from twenty-four seven babysitting. Until then, though, we have to lay low, and not put a foot out of line."

Finn had rolled toward her. One of his elbows on the bed, hand propping his head up. The other was tugging the elastic from his hair, letting it cascade over his shoulders as he shook it out.

Hermione nodded, sighing. She understood his reasoning, she really did. But it still sucked. If anyone were to check her wand to see the recently cast spells, they needed to be sure to only find the spells she _should_ be learning and working on. Dark Magic spells, duelling spells, etc. If they were to find any spells that were questionable, or that meant she'd had her wand far more than she should, both her and Finn would be in danger. It wasn't worth it.

Hermione rolled over without saying more and waited for Finn to turn out the light. With another sigh, and a goodnight, he darkened the room and the rustling of covers told Hermione he'd rolled over.

Her mind was reeling again, and she let it. She went over their plan and the lessons, her fears and her hopes, and every little thing that crossed through her brain for well over an hour. Until she was certain that Finn was asleep.

Hermione gently rolled herself out of the bed and opened the drawer of her own nightstand. She grabbed the coin that had been sitting untouched for days and quietly headed into the bathroom.

Locking the door and then sitting on the floor, Hermione pulled the coin up to rest in her lap, her hands gripping it tightly. Her core magic had definitely healed since Bellatrix, but it was like a muscle, and that time without use had really hindered her ability to do wandless magic. She had been practising, mostly with a quiet _Lumos_ here or an _Alohomora_ there. It had been quite frustrating to discover that she had to more or less begin again from where she had started with learning wandless magic, but she felt sure that tonight she would finally see the progress she had been working toward.

Focusing all of her magic on the little coin, Hermione put everything she had into sending a message to Draco.

A satisfied smile erupted across her face when she saw her words pass across the surface of the coin, indicating her success.

_Hi_

It wasn't much, but it was a start. Hermione hadn't properly talked to Draco in what seemed like forever and she found herself nervous and unsure what to say. She wasn't sure if she was surprised or not when a message heated the coin in her hand almost instantly.

_Hi. Are you alright?_

Hermione smiled and her stomach fluttered. Four words and she was getting butterflies—how ridiculous.

_I'm ok. It's been rough, but I'm finally healed enough to make this damn coin work again. You?_

_I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Finn said you agreed to our plan… care to elaborate?_

_Not particularly. Turns out I don't care to die just yet. So while I wait for other options, this is it._

_I'm sorry, Hermione._

I know.

_Will you be able to message regularly now? Or is this some fluke that I shouldn't get used to?_

_Would you like me to?_

Hermione felt like such an utter fool, waiting on the bathroom floor, clutching a coin, her stomach in knots. She had a feeling she knew the answer, but hope was a funny thing. When the coin heated in her palm, she didn't look at it right away, shaking in anticipation but not wanting to know if his answer was no.

_It would be the highlight of my days to hear from you._

 

Hermione couldn't erase the smile from her face if she'd tried. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to hear from her. He _wanted_ to. It was such a silly and nonsensical thing for her to be stuck on, especially in her current situation, but really, wanting a little bit of a light in this very dark tunnel wasn't _that_ absurd. She would need someone to talk to on the bad days—and she knew there would be bad days—having something to look forward to, something to hope for and want and give her some damn butterflies might be enough to keep her spirits up and her mind sane.

She held the coin tightly one more time, sending one last message before she left the bathroom and headed back to bed, where her head hit the pillow and she finally fell asleep.

_It's a date._

xXxXxXx

Breakfast the next morning was not a relaxing affair. Hermione sat, trying to eat her eggs, fruit, and whatever else she had on her plate, while Finn attempted to roam around in her brain and simultaneously curse her.

It wasn't easy, that was for sure. Hermione had thus far successfully been able to keep him out—without his being able to _tell_ she was keeping him out—while she did mundane tasks like eating or reading, as well as while he cursed her. They were working on her ability to keep him out while he did both of those together now as well as surprise attacks, as the Dark Lord wouldn't give her warning or ask permission.

It was giving her a raging headache to go along with her sore muscles and insides that felt like they'd been through a cheese grater.

When Finn finally released her from the magic she visibly sagged in her chair and let out a heavy breath.

"You'll have to do better than that, doll. It won't do to work so hard keeping someone out without a trace, only to let them know you've been doing exactly that once they release you."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not perfect at this after a week!" she snapped, feeling overly irritable and not at all in the mood for his antics after the morning's activities.

"Oh, come now, don't be like that," he said, taking a bite of his leftover fruit.

Hermione crossed her arms. She wasn't really mad at him; he was right, she did need to get better. She was mad at herself for not _being_ better yet. They'd been working on nothing but Occlumency, Dark Magic, and running for over a week now. It was incredibly frustrating that she still hadn't even been able to properly cast an unforgivable yet.

She was close though. Sort of. They'd been using the _Imperio_ to gauge her progress, and yesterday, she'd been able to get Finn to twirl in a circle for just a moment before he regained control. It wasn't much, but it was something. She still couldn't do anything with a _Crucio,_ and she could just forget about an _Avada._

One thing at a time, she supposed.

Hermione sat silently, gathering herself, while Finn sat down to eat. After a few mouthfuls, he looked up at her and grimaced slightly.

"You know you'll have to meet with your father soon, right?"

Hermione closed her eyes and let her head fall back, dreading this conversation. "I know," she replied in a whisper.

"It probably won't be as bad as whatever you're imagining, you know."

_You're right, it will probably be worse,_ she thought. She took a few seconds, breathing deeply, before returning her head back upright and speaking. "I'm just nervous. I haven't had to…" Hermione paused, searching for the words. She pulled her hands from her lap, palms up waving them slightly in front of her. "I haven't had to be _this_ person yet, and I don't want to mess up. If I say one wrong thing, I could literally be killed. Plus, if I'm dead I won't be any use to the Order, and this will have all been for nought."

"Please tell me you're more worried about _dying_ than you are about being useless to the damn Order?" Finn's tone was calm and neutral, but Hermione could tell by his expression that he was anything but.

She chose her words carefully.

"I just think that after all this, if I were to just die, it would all feel rather pointless—I would like my suffering to have at least been for _something_." She nervously picked at her fingers, not wanting to meet his gaze.

"I think the Order would unanimously agree that your life is more important to them than whatever morsels of information you _may_ one day be able to provide them. Honestly, Hermione, it's like," Finn paused, sighing heavily. Hermione looked up in time to see him running his hands down his face and looking conflicted. "Sometimes I feel like you forget what the situation is. You—you're not getting back, Hermione. Not anytime soon, at least, if ever. You need to accept that if you want this to work. If a part of you is constantly waiting to go back you won't be able to get to the place you need to be in order to play this part right. You have to let go of who you are now, and become someone else. You can't be _this_ Hermione. You have to—"

"I have to compartmentalise," she quietly finished for him.

"Yes." Finn nodded sympathetically.

"I don't know how to do that," Hermione admitted, biting her lip. She hated admitting that she didn't know how to do something and this was no different.

"We'll figure something out." Finn scratched his chest and looked apologetic briefly before he spoke again. "We do have to set up something with your father though…"

Hermione groaned loudly and let her head fall back again.

xXxXxXx

Three days later found Hermione poking through what seemed like every outfit she had available to her in the little closet. Dresses, skirts, trousers— _what in the world did one wear to have lunch with a man who was a Death Eater by day, and apparently caring father by night?_ Did she wear heels? Did she dress up? Dress down? Casual? Was she expected to behave as a 'proper Pureblood'? Could she be just Hermione? Obviously not the _real_ Hermione, but whatever version her and Finn had cooked up so far. Should she pretend that she already truly liked and trusted the man? Or did she let herself warm up to him, as the _real_ Hermione might?

She let out a noise somewhere between a scream, a growl, and a groan.

All it did was elicit a chuckle from across the room.

"Bugger off, Rowle. If you think this is so funny, why don't _you_ go have lunch with the man!"

"Not my father, not my problem, doll," he said, still chuckling. "Do you need help?"

"What I need is a new life!" Hermione slammed the doors to the closet shut and stormed to the bed, sitting down in a huff and crossing her arms exasperatedly.

"Seems like that's what you got, doll." Finn stood up from the table and sauntered over to the closet, opening the doors again and peering inside. "Let's see then, you've got a lot of options here, Hermione."

She watched him pick through the items that were hanging and folded inside the closet. He eventually came out with a small stack of clothes and shoes and began to lay them before her on the bed.

"How the heck do you know what you're doing?" she asked him, surprised that the pieces actually worked together.

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow before pointing a finger at his chest. "Pureblood," he said, as way of explanation.

Hermione rolled her eyes but stood and walked to stand in front of the selection. There were three outfits laid out and paired with shoes.

"Well, we can scrap this one right off," she said, pointing to the middle outfit. "I don't want to wear heels. What if I have to run away?"

Finn let out a barking laugh at that, clutching his side and bending forward with the force of it.

Hermione did not find it that funny. When he finally quieted down and looked at her, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, Hermione glared and asked him what on earth was so funny about that.

"Hermione, you really think you'd be able to outrun a Death Eater? You have no wand and extremely limited magic. A simple body bind would stop you in your tracks, no matter if you were wearing heels or running shoes."

"Oh wonderful, thank you for that, Finn. Another thing I need to worry about—"

"Hermione, _stop worrying_. The more you worry, the worse it will be. Just go with the flow, act naturally—or as naturally as you can, as the _new_ Hermione—and everything will be fine."

"Easy for you to say," Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. She looked back at the outfits on the bed and pointed to one. "How about this one?"

"I think that will be perfect," Finn said, smiling.

Hermione snatched up the outfit and headed into the bathroom to change.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she shook her head. Why didn't she pick this out? It took Finn literally two minutes to put together three outfits, and Hermione hadn't been able to even sort out _one!_

A smart looking knee length grey pencil skirt paired with a green blouse that had some sort of see through material for the sleeves that reached down to her wrists. It was adorned with what looked to be—and probably were—pearl buttons. There were three on each wrist and several down her back; she would have to get Finn to do them up for her. He had also chosen simple black flats and stockings for her. Overall she felt very put together and classic. Very _Pureblood._ It was something she could see Narcissa wearing, and that both worried and pleased her. It couldn't be denied that the woman knew fashion.

Hermione returned to the main room and walked straight to Finn, pulling up her hair before turning her back to him. He deftly buttoned up her blouse and then placed his hands on her shoulders turning her to face him.

Taking one step back, Finn looked her up and down, apparently appraising her. "Perfect, Hermione. But," he pulled out his wand and walked around to stand behind her again. Curious, Hermione nearly turned to face him again, but then she felt his hands tug at her hair, twisting it and fixing it to her head with a sticking charm. "Now it's perfect. You look ever the subdued Pureblood daughter," he said as he walked back to stand in front of her, a wide smirk playing across his face.

Finn cast a quick _Tempus_ and Hermione groaned loudly when she saw the result.

"Alright, doll. Have fun with daddy," Finn said, chuckling slightly and winking at her.

"Is he a punctual man or will we have to wa—" Hermione's head snapped up when her question was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.

Finn grinned even wider.

"Punctual."

xXxXxXx


	34. Crossing the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Alright beautiful souls, I'm sorry there was no chapter last week! It's summer and things are getting crazy here and I just don't think I am going to be able to keep up with weekly updates **and** keep my sanity. So I'm going to drop it down to every other week for a bit— hopefully not too long, but we will see. I love you all and am so so appreciative of your comments and support!  
>  **  
> Xoxo, Luce**

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

**Crossing the Line**

"You look…well."

"Finn has been really quite wonderful at mending me, thank you."

Hermione tried to ignore the awkwardness that was seeping from every pore of this situation. Rodolphus had arrived exactly on time to escort her to the courtyard, where they would apparently be having lunch—undoubtedly served by house elves, which she was going to have to pretend did not bother her.

_Compartmentalise, Hermione. Compartmentalise._ Her new mantra.

The walk to the courtyard was longer than she expected. Malfoy Manor was expansive, and the layout was slightly confusing. She tried to memorise every turn and hallway, every painting and every door—it would be necessary information to have if she ever got the opportunity to escape.

Which wasn't likely. Finn was right, it was thoughts like _that_ that were going to keep her from being able to fully integrate herself here. Tucking that little bit away, for now, Hermione decided she would think on it tonight. After she made it through lunch. With her father. The Death Eater.

She jumped slightly when Rodolphus put his hand on her forearm.

"Hermione?" he asked, concern in his eyes.  
She realised that the background noise she had been ignoring in favour of her internal monologue and casing of Malfoy Manor had actually been Rodolphus speaking to her.

"Oh, sorry! I'm sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment there—what?"

"I was asking—are you sure you're alright? I've been concerned about you staying with Rowle, and—"

"No, no, honestly, he's been wonderful. The perfect gentleman." Hermione smiled at Rodolphus, thinking to herself that maybe this whole lying thing wouldn't be as hard as she thought. Finn had been very helpful to her and was turning into a friend, but a gentleman? That was laughable. Her smile widened.

"Alright, if you're sure."

"What is it you were saying?" she asked as they continued through what seemed to be the front entrance. There was a large set of double doors and windows bringing light onto the marbled floors.

"I was just asking if you'd had a chance to meet with anyone else yet," he said.

"Oh, not yet. I do believe that Mrs Malfoy is going to be tutoring me though, helping me learn the things I undoubtedly missed out on."

Rodolphus opened a final set of doors and Hermione walked through and was met with the fresh air of a crisp January day. She brought her hands up to rub her arms as the chill hit her skin through the thin material of her blouse. She had only a moment to wish she had chosen something more suitable for outside weather before she felt the air around her warm considerably. Turning to Rodolphus she smiled, "Thank you," she said, realising he had cast a warming charm on her.

He smiled and led her to a small table looking out at the gardens. Hermione sat down in the chair he pulled out for her and smiled at him as warmly as she could manage.

"Thank you for inviting me out to lunch today," she said. "I have been rather looking forward to speaking with you again. I really must apologise for anything unkind I may have said before, being in that cell really affected my mind,"

"Consider it forgotten. I would like to start fresh with you; get to know each other. We have—there are years—I just…" Rodolphus cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable and a little sad. After a brief pause, he continued. "We missed out on a lot of time together, and I would like to try to start making it up."

Hermione smiled kindly, "Me, too," she said.

Inside her stomach was turning and she was fighting back the bile that rose in her throat.

This was not something she wanted to be doing. She didn't care that they had missed so many years together. She had had a wonderful life with her parents, and she wouldn't trade it for the world. This man may be her sperm donor, but Richard Granger was her father, nothing would change that. She couldn't—

_No,_ she thought. _Compartmentalise._ Put those thoughts away.

And so she did.

Fingers were snapped, drinks were brought, smiles exchanged, and lunch was served: a fancy soup with fresh bread and fruit. Hermione bit her tongue when the elf was dismissed with a wave of the hand and nothing more. She sat straight as she could, placed her napkin in her lap, and looked at her silverware trying to decide why she was given two forks and a knife when the only thing that would need a fork was her fruit—and it was pre-cut.

Narcissa was going to have a lot of work to do.

Polite conversation was exchanged about the weather, the garden, the gorgeous manor, and even Hermione's lovely choice of attire. Hermione was beginning to hope that she would escape this lunch date with nothing more than a full belly and fresh air in her lungs.

Unfortunately, Rodolphus had other plans.

"I know this is awkward, Hermione, and I am sure you have questions—about me, your mother, the circumstances that led to your muggle placement…" Rodolphus wiped his face with the napkin and placed it back in his lap. "I would be happy to answer them, anything."

Hermione wiped her face as well, stalling. _Shit._ She was going to have to do this after all. Taking a deep breath and steadying herself, she nodded.

"Yes, I am quite curious."

"What would you like to know?" he asked.

"I'm actually not sure where to start," she said gently. "I guess I want to know everything, but I'm not sure how much you really want to tell me."

She hoped that by giving him the reins here she would be able to just absorb the information, and react accordingly, without having to try too hard to keep up her persona.

Rodolphus sighed deeply and looked out over the gardens. He was silent for long enough that Hermione was starting to worry, wondering what exactly she should say and ask. What she should be curious about, what she _was_ curious about, but he finally spoke.

"The beginning, I guess. I was young when I met your mother, but I loved her from the start. She was powerful and smart, and…" he paused and turned back to face Hermione smiling brightly, "And she was lovely. The most gorgeous creature I have ever laid eyes on."

Hermione did not miss the fact that he used the present tense, 'have', and not had.

"We were going to marry, I had a ring picked out and everything. But her family—they were on the wrong side of the war, and even though she had distanced herself from them, well… Family, blood is everything, and she was tainted by association." He looked out over the gardens again, smile long gone.

"I was given two days notice before Bella and I were wed. The Blacks have always been strong supporters of the Dark Lord's cause. They come from a long line of Pureblood witches and wizards, and Bella and I went to school together. It was to be a great fit. Strong, pure bloodlines, an excellent political and social match—on paper it was perfect."

"But it wasn't her," Hermione said quietly.

"No, it wasn't."

Hermione jumped when the now familiar _pop!_ of a house elf was heard.

"Would yous be liking me to clear the plates and serve tea, sir?" said the little elf.

Rodolphus nodded his head, and she vanished the plates, snapped her fingers, and had hot tea and biscuits on the table almost immediately.

When she had gone, Rodolphus took a moment to stir sugar into his tea before continuing.

"Bella and I were wed the first of January in 1979. The New Moon fell on the first that year; a powerful night for Dark Magic. In February, Portia—that was her name, Portia Fawley—she visited me in secret and told me that she was with child. There was nothing I could do, so I hid her away. Months and months passed, and by September of 79' I was sure she'd had the baby—had you," he said softly. "So when the Floo lit up that night, and I realised it was a call from Portia, I thanked the gods that Bellatrix was away and I could go to her without incident. When I arrived in her flat—" he paused again, the memories clearly hard for him.

"When I arrived, I hardly had time to ask what was going on. She was—I arrived just in time for you to make your appearance. You were the tiniest, most precious thing I had ever seen, and I wanted those moments to last forever. She pleaded with me to stay, to leave Bella and hide away with her and you. It's not that I didn't want to be with you two, but I had obligations, and I was already married and bound to Bellatrix. So I got Portia settled into her bed, with you tucked in the cradle alongside before I left."

He paused again, this time the agony in his voice was breaking through. Against her will, Hermione felt bad for the man. Her sympathy was growing with every line of this tragic tale he retold.

"It's alright," she said, placing one hand over his forearm, hoping to comfort him.

He smiled without joy and continued. "She asked me to go upstairs and get a potion from the witch who lived there. Something for the pain after labour, she'd said. I didn't think twice, I kissed you both on the forehead and headed out the door. It wasn't until I was all the way down the hall, opening the door to the stairwell, that I realised she was on the top floor."

"Oh, no," Hermione said in a hushed voice.

"I ran as fast as I could back into her flat, but it was too late. She had used a cursed blade on herself, and there was nothing I could do." Rodolphus wiped a single tear from his eye. "I wrapped you up tightly in your blanket and called for my house elf. We had to act quickly, so he found someone trustworthy to watch you—someone who wouldn't say anything—and we left to search for somewhere you would be safe." He cleared his throat, seeming uncomfortable with the emotion he was showing.

"We were lucky to find a muggle adoption agency and…" He paused again and furrowed his eyebrows.

"And?" Hermione asked.

"And Imperiused some of the workers in order to quickly find the most appropriate couple… No other family, no one who would be particularly missed… Anyway we took the file, went to the address listed and modified the memories of the muggles—"

Hermione gasped, interrupting his explanation. "You modified their memories?"

She tried to reason with herself that _of course_ their memories had been modified, because how else would you explain a baby showing up with a strange man and tiny elf, but it still hurt. All this time, ever since she found out about her 'adoption', she had at least been able to cling to the fact that she _knew_ her parents loved her. But now, now doubts were flashing through her mind and she was questioning even that.

"Did they—were they even…"

"I only modified what was absolutely necessary. I made sure they would not contact the adoption agency and that they would move right away. I couldn't spend all day modifying the memories of everyone they knew to make sure your placement was not questioned, we had to be quick. Once they were… ready, we brought you over, and…"

Hermione stayed silent, not interrupting his pause. She was having a hard time digesting the new information. Logically, she thought she should have realised that her parent's memories would have been modified. You can't just give someone a baby and have no questions asked by anyone. She looked up at this man, who had apparently done everything in his ability to hide her away, and felt overwhelmingly thankful. It was a rather uncomfortable feeling.

He cleared his throat. "And that was the last time I saw you until Bella brought you in—on Christmas," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Under any other circumstances, I would have been elated. I hid you away for a reason, though. You _are_ a Pureblood, so you would have been accepted by the others, including the Dark Lord. But Bella, she—she's a naturally jealous creature, and she would have never been able to accept you."

"Obviously," Hermione said under her breath, rolling her eyes. "The woman has only tried to kill me, what? Three times now?"

"You are a walking reminder of our inability to have a child," he sighed. "Bella and I tried for years; we went to healers, took potions, tried old-magic fertility spells, nothing worked. And now here you are, walking proof that it's _her_ and not me."

"Still, I don't think killing me is going to make her fertile," she snapped.

"I'm not defending her actions, child. Just explaining them."

Hermione rolled her eyes again and sipped her tea. He could say as many humanising things about Bellatrix as he wanted, she was still a bitch. And gods, she'd been spending too much time locked away with Finn. She was picking up on his awful use of foul language.

It remained silent between them after that. Both just sipping their tea and gazing across the grounds, lost in their own minds. After several quiet minutes, Rodolphus broke the silence.

"Rowle has informed us that you wish to stay here, as a… well, to stay with us?"

Hermione noted his choice of words; his avoidance of saying anything that sounded as though she were joining the Death Eaters.

She sighed. _A lie that begins in truth is the most believable,_ she thought, reciting Finn's words in her mind as she straightened up in her chair slightly.

"Yes," she said slowly. "At first I was reluctant, to say the least. But speaking with you, and Finn, it has made me realise that there is so much I don't know about my own life, as well as magic in general. I know I have only seen a taste of what I could learn here so far, and honestly, I _am_ eager to learn more. I was nearly sorted into Ravenclaw, you know," she added a calculated smirk at that before continuing. "Plus, my other options weren't exactly appealing—I've spent about as much time as I care to locked away in a dark cell, being intermittently cursed by… by people who wish me harm."

"But you don't agree with us." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, I don't," she said truthfully. "I spent my whole life living with muggles and being a muggle-born. I—there are things that I…"

"The Dark Lord won't trust you."

"I don't expect him to. He is a smart and powerful man. You don't rise to power by trusting your enemies."

"You can't—" Rodolphus sighed deeply, massaging his temples. "If you stay here, you can't consider yourself an enemy. I know Rowle has been looking after you; do you really think that spending the rest of your life in that room is so different from spending it in a cell? Comforts aside, you're still a prisoner."

"I can't be expected to change overnight. This is a lot for me, you know, and I'm trying. I'm not going to lie to you—or anyone—and say that this is something I would have chosen for myself. But I _am_ choosing it, right now. I'm choosing to try and learn. It may have a lot to do with the fact that I really enjoy hot showers and frequent meals, but I'm still _choosing_ it. She paused, taking a breath. It was a little startling as the words began to tumble out because what she was saying right now, it was truthful. It wasn't something she was having to make up in order to survive, it was real.

"And—and it scares me how much I _like_ it. Finn has been teaching me to use Dark Magic, and it's not easy. It's a lot harder than Light Magic, but the way it makes me feel—when I cast a Dark spell, it does something different. The magic flows through my body in a way that Light Magic never has. It feels _good—_ powerful. And it's hard for me to reconcile that because all my magical life I've been taught one thing. I've been taught that magic is inherently good or evil and learning anything besides what has been deemed _good_ means that _I_ am bad. But what Finn has started teaching me—Magic is Magic." She put her cup down and looked Rodolphus in the eye.

"By only teaching us what _he_ considers to be acceptable, Dumbledore is restricting our growth. Yes, the things he doesn't teach us _can_ be used for evil purposes, but it shouldn't be up to him to decide what we are allowed to learn. He is trying to control us and restrict our growth. You could use any number of _Light_ spells to do harm, and I am sure you could use a few spells that are considered _Dark_ to do good. Dumbledore is hindering magical growth and restricting learning! What kind of a teacher does that?" Her rant had reached its peak now, and Hermione huffed, breathing heavily. She took a moment to gather herself, before finishing quietly. "I may not share all his ideals, but at least the Dark Lord won't limit and confine me. I will be able to learn and grow my magic without hindrance."

It surprised her to see that Rodolphus was smiling at her. It also sickened her.

"No one expects you to change overnight, child. Honestly, most don't expect you to change at all. But what you just said… it's a wonderful start."

An icy feeling settled into Hermione's chest. She wasn't sure if she should feel pleased that she had apparently made good headway in getting Rodolphus to trust her, or if she should indeed feel sick about it. Because she had been _truthful_. Not truthful in her lie, but simply truthful. Everything she was learning with Finn… if the Order knew some of this stuff or was free to _use_ the spells and techniques that she was now learning—the fight would be much closer to being fair. As it stood, Dumbledore was holding them back, preventing them from being fully successful. If the Death Eaters and the Order were on even ground, knowledge wise, Hermione felt positive that many of the casualties could have been avoided, and that made her feel rage in a form she hadn't before. Dumbledore's hang up on Dark Magic was getting people _killed_.

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to push the thoughts from her mind. She _should not_ be thinking those things about Dumbledore. Saying them, yes, but actually _feeling_ them? No, that was crossing the line.

"Do you mind… I'm feeling rather exhausted," she lied. "I'm still building my strength back up, and lunch has been so lovely, but I think a nap might be in order," she said, plastering a shy smile across her face.

"Of course! I'm sure you are exhausted. Let's get you back, then." Rodolphus stood from his chair and walked to Hermione, holding a hand out for her. She accepted, and let him lead her back to Finn's room. She pushed down the slimy feeling crawling up her spine and hugged the man as they stood outside of the door, thanking him for a wonderful lunch.

"I would really like to get to know you, to build a relationship with you. I know this isn't easy for you, but… I'm glad you're here," he finished, tucking a curl that had fallen loose behind her ear." He paused a moment, before quietly adding, "You look just like her… your mother."

"That must be very hard for you," she said quietly, suddenly self-conscious.

"It is. But it's also nice. I—I do miss her, and seeing you, well, it's nice."

There was an awkward pause where neither really knew what to say before Hermione plastered a sheepish smile on her face. "Thank you, for everything," she said as she opened the door and walked inside.

xXxXxXx


	35. The Shoes I'm Wearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:**  Hello beautiful souls! First of all, your patience is amazing, and I thank you for it! It's been really nice not stressing about a chapter every week. Second, Falling into Darkness has been nominated for Best WIP in the Enchanted Awards over at Granger Enchanted Survivors 18+, and I'm shocked and kind of cannot believe it! It's up against some really REALLY amazing WIPs, and I'm just so stoked that some people loved it enough to nominate it! Massive hugs and kisses to anyone who nominated or voted for it! There are a TON of amazing stories/authors who are nominated for loads of different categories, so go check out the noms and vote if you'd like!  
> Alright alright, I won't make you wait any longer—here's the next chapter lovelies!  
>  **Xoxo, L**

 

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

The Shoes I'm Wearing

"This is ridiculous, who even wears this stuff?" Hermione complained, turning this way and that while critiquing her reflection in the mirror.

"Narcissa does, so I would suggest you not insult her by saying that to her face today." Hermione watched him through the mirror as he spoke. "Personally, I think you look quite lovely," he paused and smirked wickedly before continuing. "You have a delectable arse, Hermione."

"Finn!" She gasped, spinning around and covering her bum—a useless endeavour since she was now facing the man. "Stop looking at my arse, you prat! I can't wear this," she said, turning to look in the mirror again, but keeping her backside covered.

"Merlin, Hermione. It's a damn dress. Why are you so put out by it?" Finn said with an exasperated sigh.

Hermione deflated a bit, turning from the mirror to face him again. Finn was lounging on the bed, with a book in his lap that had been abandoned to listen to her pout. "First of all, it's a skirt and a blouse,  _not_ a dress. Second of all, I'm about to meet Mrs Malfoy.  _Mrs Malfoy!"_ She emphasised her name the second time and walked over to sit on the bed. "She's a very daunting woman to meet."

"Because you want to shag her son?"

"Finn!" Hermione shouted at him, simultaneously reaching out and smacking his leg.

"Oh, so you don't have a thing with Draco then?"

"Can you not be so… so crude? I haven't seen Draco in weeks," she rolled her eyes, even as she felt the heat of her blush creep up her chest.

"You think I don't know you sneak out of bed every night with that little coin of yours?" he smirked, pointing to the Galleon that hung around her neck.

Hermione grasped the necklace and began to tuck it under her blouse, but was stopped when Finn reached out and stilled her hand.

"You can't keep wearing it like that, you know. Someone is going to notice and ask questions, and you can't afford even a hint of mistrust. Here, let me see it," he said holding out his hand.

Hermione reluctantly lifted the chain over her head and handed it over. Finn stood up and walked to his dresser, where she saw him open small wooden box with a tap of his wand. He dug around in it for only a moment and then lay her necklace down on the surface of the dresser, placing whatever he had pulled from the box next to it.

She heard him mumbling some incantations she couldn't quite make out, then watched as he waved his wand several times intricately over the two objects. After a minute or two he finally turned back around, one hand holding her Galleon with the chain dangling, and the other fisted closed.

Hermione eyed him curiously as he approached. He held out the Galleon and she took it turning it over and over trying to figure out what he had done.

"Turn around, doll." He moved his finger in a spinning motion and waited for her to comply.

When she was facing away from him, he reached around and Hermione realised he was putting a new necklace on her. She gently felt the pendant that now hung just above where her Galleon had, settling itself in the crease of her breasts.

When he had clasped the chain, Hermione stood and walked to the mirror. She gasped at the sight of the necklace. Instead of the golden Galleon that had hung there for so long, there was now a very beautiful,  _very_  large green stone surrounded by small white ones, on a silver chain.

"Finn, this is beautiful. I can't wear this," she said shaking her head.

Hermione startled when his voice came from right behind her. She hadn't noticed him move across the room to join her at the mirror. "You can, actually. I've transferred the charm from your Galleon to this." Finn stepped close enough that he could reach around and turn the necklace over so Hermione could see the back of it. It was solid silver with no markings. "It should work just the same," he shrugged. "Try it?"

Hermione furrowed her brows but took the pendant from Finn's hands. She doubted that he was able to transfer the magic from the Galleon, but placated him and focused on sending a message.

She was absolutely shocked when she watched her message flash across the back of the pendant before disappearing.

"How did you do that?" she said, spinning around and holding the Galleon up. "You shouldn't have been able to do that!"

Finn winked at her, "Magic, doll."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror. "It's beautiful," she mused, watching as the light reflected off the stones. "I've never had anything like this," she smiled. "Thank you."

"Well, I would think not. Gryffindors don't usually sport emeralds," he said, shaking his head and grinning.

Hermione inhaled sharply and turned to face him. "Finn, please tell me this is a replica and not a  _real_  emerald?"

"Narcissa has so much to teach you," he said, shaking his head with a chuckle.

When she only raised her eyebrows at him, he explained. "A pureblood man would  _never_  give a pureblood lady anything less than the real deal, Hermione."

"This is—are you telling me this is a genuine emerald? And it's surrounded by what? Tiny diamonds?"

"Obviously, Hermione. You don't have to insult me though, the diamonds aren't  _that_  tiny. I think they pair quite nicely."

"Finn! I can't take this, it's too much!"

"Yes, you can, Hermione. It was my mother's, and it's just been sitting around in that box for years now; I can't think of a more perfect use for it. Plus, you need some more green in your life, and Draco isn't around to dote on you just yet." He winked at her and walked to the table, pouring two glasses of firewhisky.

Hermione was nearly sputtering. She admittedly didn't know much about jewellery or precious stones—discounting the Sorcerer's, of course—but she was sure that the necklace now hanging around her neck was worth thousands of dollars. And Finn thought she could just wear something like that casually?

"Finn, honestly. I cannot accept this. It was your  _mother's_ ; I'm sure you want to keep it in the family, not give it up to be used as some pseudo-cellphone for—"

"What is a cell phone?"

"Oh, nevermind! Just take it back, Finn." She reached around to unclasp the necklace but stopped when Finn walked over and motioned for her to turn around again. Relieved, she sighed and did so.

He didn't unclasp it though. She felt nothing, but heard Finn chuckle behind her before simply saying, "There."

"What—"

"Permanent locking charm, keyed to me. Unless  _I_  unlock that clasp it's staying put, doll," he said, turning to wink at her as he walked back to the table. He held out a tumbler and Hermione took it, glaring at the man briefly before her expression softened.

"Are you sure, Finn? It was your mother's," she said softly, gently touching the pendant with her free hand.

"If she were here, she would have suggested it herself, Hermione. Plus, you have to get used to wearing expensive things. It's what purebloods do," he said, shrugging, then picking up his own glass. He downed the contents and refilled it.

Hermione sipped at her own, wincing as the liquid slid warm down her throat.

"I don't know anything about Narcissa, Finn. What am I going to say? I mean, does she know? About me? How much do I have to pretend with her?"

"Slow down, doll. Just—Narcissa is… Narcissa—" He drew a hand down his face, sighing, before sipping at the firewhisky again. "Everything Narcissa does is for Draco. She's—She'll be on your side, but that doesn't mean you can let your guard down, Hermione. You have to—you can't flip flop between personas, here. You have to step into who you need to be, and stay there."

"Alright." Hermione took a deep breath, then without overthinking it, downed her firewhisky in one gulp." She grimaced as the liquid burned down her throat and shook her head. "Alright."

xXxXxXx

"I thought you said she was going to be on  _my_  side, Finn!" Hermione huffed as they walked back into the room, after three hours spent in the company of one Narcissa Malfoy.

"It wasn't  _that_  bad, was it?" he asked, laughing as Hermione threw herself onto the bed.

"Finn, do you see the shoes I'm wearing? This is  _not_  what I left in if you'll recall. I left wearing sensible, small, manageable heels. These? These are straight from hell," she whined, waving her feet in the air at him.

"Take them off?" he suggested questioningly, sitting down next to her.

"Oh, I didn't tell you? She put a  _sticking_  charm on them! These babies are stuck on my poor aching feet until this evening! She's a monster, Finn."

Finn laughed so hard that the bed shook, and Hermione couldn't help but smile, too. The lesson with Narcissa was nothing like she'd expected. They had spent the first hour sipping tea, and doing what can only be described as  _chatting_. Narcissa asked her how she was doing, how her lessons with Finn were going, if she was in need of anything, and, lastly, if she had heard from Draco recently.

That last question had Hermione nearly choking on her Earl Grey.

_"Um, excuse me?" she asked, completely thrown off by the unexpected question._

"Have you heard from Draco, darling? I know you two are… friends," she smiled knowingly, and Hermione stared at her like a deer in headlights.

" _It's quite alright, Hermione. Draco told me that you were friends, and I know he worries about you."_

"I, um, I'm not really—" Hermione stuttered, unable to form a sentence. How much was Narcissa supposed to know? The way she was smiling at Hermione, it was as if she knew that she and Draco were… what were they? Hermione didn't even have an answer for that. She didn't know where they stood or what to call their… communications? How was she supposed to answer this question? 'I talk to your son every night and dream about snogging him again, but I don't know where we stand, and I'm not sure if we are anything, or if he just sort of feels bad that I'm a prisoner in his parents home'?

_So Hermione had stayed silent, blushing until she was the colour of a tomato. Narcissa had simply smiled at her, with that knowing motherly look, and set her tea down._

"Alright, dear. Shall we begin, then?"

Hermione had spent the next two hours walking around the room in three-inch heels, listening to, and then reciting, things that pureblood daughters apparently learn from birth on. She now knew the surnames of the families that made up the Sacred 28, and the proper way to address others—unmarried men who were older than her, unmarried men who were her age or younger, married men, unmarried ladies, married ladies, those who were of a higher or lower status than her—the list went on and on. The whole time, Narcissa had been correcting her posture, fixing her gait, telling her how awful her shoulders slouched—on and on. Hermione felt like an utter disgrace in the woman's presence.

And that had just been day one.

She was supposed to meet with Narcissa for these three-hour lessons every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as well as what Narcissa had called a "casual tea" on Tuesdays and Sundays.

Her schedule was suddenly looking much busier.

"Ahh," Finn laughed. "That does sound like something she would do."

"I don't know why women wear these ridiculous shoes, anyway. They hurt your feet and make it incredibly difficult to move around." Hermione rolled her eyes and watched as Finn stood from the bed and crossed to the table, gathering two glasses of firewhisky and bringing them over.

"Are you trying to make me a drunk, Finn?" She laughed as she took the glass. "I've drunk more since I've been stuck here with you than I have in my whole life before this."

"Embrace it, doll. It comes with the territory."

Hermione shook her head but sipped her drink all the same. It helped numb her senses just a little—helped her slip into this role she was playing, and forget about how wrong it all was.

After a few moments of silence while Finn enjoyed, and Hermione endured, the firewhisky, Finn stood and held his hand out to her.

"What now?" she complained.

"Training, doll. The day doesn't stop because you're in heels, you know."

"You've got to be joking."

"Watching a witch do Dark Magic in high heels? I'd never joke about such a thing." He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to take his proffered hand. When she did, he helped her to her feet and smirked at her.

"Ugh," she said in feigned disgust. After weeks of being stuck with him, Hermione was getting quite used to his flirtatious antics; he was growing on her.

"Unless you'd rather skip the magic, double the height of the heels, and get married…" he offered.

"No, no, no, the heels are fine." Hermione shook her head and was quick to follow after Finn as he headed toward the door. He was often keen to remind her of her other option here when she complained too much, and she was always quickly back on board with the path down which he was leading her. There was no way she was going to let herself be married off to some eligible Death Eater, just so that she could pop out Pureblood babies.  _Nope_. Learning Dark Magic in high heels was perfectly fine once she remembered the alternative.

"Put on your prettiest smile, doll. We are heading to the training room," Finn said as he opened the door and led her into the hallway.

xXxXxXx

Duelling with Dark Magic was hard.

Duelling with Dark Magic in high heels was ridiculous.

Hermione fell on her arse several times trying to dodge curses that Finn threw at her. He laughed every time, and more often than not ended up throwing another one at her while she was down.

_"No one is going to wait politely until you get back up, doll,"_ he had explained to her.

After a couple hours of tough duelling, Hermione knew she was getting better. The more she used Dark Magic, the easier it got for her. The spells were coming faster—she wasn't having to stop and think about them anymore—and as she grew more comfortable in using that type of magic, she also grew stronger. Finn said it was because to use Dark Magic you had to feel it, to believe in it, and before she did neither, so it resisted her. But now she was letting herself fall into the role she had to play, letting herself be who she had to be here, and that was making it easier for her to use the spells.

Hermione wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but she decided to ignore it for now. Tuck it away with the other things she would surely need intensive therapy for if she ever made it out of this.

She understood what he meant, though—the more she accepted the magic, the easier it was for her to wield. She no longer felt like she was forcing it out of her, ripping it from her body. It flowed more naturally, more easily.

It wasn't seamless yet, by any means, but it was getting easier.

It worried her that she liked the feeling of the magic pulsing through her. It felt so different that Light Magic did. Light Magic felt weak in comparison—like it was children's play. Dark Magic left her feeling raw but powerful. It was intoxicating.

She wanted more.

xXxXxXx

"Get dressed."

"Since when do you think you can boss me around?" she chuckled without looking up. She was reading the Prophet, desperately scanning for information on Harry and the Order, while sitting at the little table in the room. Finn had been gone most of the morning, and it appeared he didn't return in a very good mood.

"Now, Hermione."

The tone of his voice caught her off guard, and Hermione put her cup down on the table and turned to look at him. He was stiff and pale, standing by the door. He hadn't made any move to take his shoes off.

"What's going on?" she asked, nervous.

"The Dark Lord has asked to see you," he said.

"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say. She couldn't move. She wasn't even sure if she was breathing properly. It was finally happening and Hermione only felt panic.

"What do I wear, Finn?" she said in a choked whisper.

Finn marched across the room and opened the closet, riffling through the clothes for only a moment before he pulled out a dress. He shook it at her, pulling her from the shock her mind and body had settled into. Hermione stood, numbly crossed the room, and took the dress from him. She watched Finn turn from her and walk to the table, opening the bottle of Firewhisky and pouring a substantial glass. She was too nervous—too numb—to bother going into the bathroom to change. She undressed almost mechanically, then stepped into the dress Finn had given her. It was knee length, with half sleeves, and plain black. She was too distressed to pay attention to anything beyond those basic details.

Her mind felt like it was simultaneously racing and standing still. This was it. This was the moment she had been training for, and it was finally here, whether she was ready or not. This would likely determine her  _future_  here, if you could call it that. This was the man who ultimately decided whether she lived or died, where she was able to spend her days if she got to live, and ultimately in what capacity she would be able to help the Order. If he restricted her to Finn's bedroom, or, Merlin forbid, that cell again, she would not be able to do anything; not collect information, not try to dismantle the system from the inside—none of her plans would be viable if he decided to lock her away. She had to impress him, to trick him. Hermione took a deep breath, not at all ready to face what was coming.

Finn turned back to face her and nodded once, holding his arm out for her to take.

This was it. She was meeting the Dark Lord.

xXxXxXx

**Earlier:**

"My Lord, I just don't understand why she is being allowed to stay? She is a mudblood, a member of the Order, and Harry Potter's best friend! She cannot be trusted—she should have been killed when she got here!" Bellatrix was seething as she brought her frustrations to the Dark Lord.

"It's as if you have no faith in me," he said calmly. "Do you really have such little faith in me, Bella?"

"My Lord, I have nothing but faith in you. I just don't understand—"

"That's right, you do not understand. Never presume to know all of my plans, Bella. I do not currently, nor will I ever, share everything with you. However, as I know her presence is quite distressing for you—the girl will be of use to us, just give it time. I am no fool, Bella.  _If_  she stays long term, which is doubtful, she will have a lot to prove. Now, we must make her feel comfortable, let her walls down."

"Long term? You think she's might actually join us, for good? My Lord, you cannot be serious! She is a member of the  _Order!"_

"Defection, Bella, is a beautiful thing. Once she sees they no longer trust her, she will be much easier to mould."

"You plan to let her go back to the Order, My Lord?" Bella asked quietly.

"After a time, yes."

Bella gasped angrily and scowled. He levelled her with a reproachful look, and she immediately schooled her features.

"By the time that happens, my child, she will be so changed that they will no longer accept her, and she will come running back to us." An evil smile spread across his face; it was contagious and almost immediately a similar expression was on Bella's face. "She is a powerful witch, Bella. Once we mould her, she will be a great asset to our cause."

"Yes, My Lord," Bella said, bowing slightly, and turning to take her leave of the room. She was halfway to the door when he spoke again.

"Oh, and Bella?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

Her knees hit the floor seconds later, agony spreading through her body. She only lasted half a minute before she was screaming, tears running down her face. Her limbs were on fire and her head felt like it was going to explode. It didn't take long before she stopped thrashing and just lay still, unable to move even in resistance.

Then it was over, and the shock waves were crashing through her body. She moaned once and drew her gaze to the robes nearing her face.

"Impatience is not a trait I wish for in my followers, Bella. Do not let it show again," The Dark Lord said before stepping over her convulsing body and leaving the room.


	36. Proper Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:**  Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:**  Alright my patient and wonderful lovelies, this chapter gave me hell, so I hope you enjoy it! I worked, and reworked it, and ended up changing a major plot point :0 but all is good! It's here and it's finished and that's that! Anyway, I want to give a shoutout to Gryff_inTheGame, girl you are amazing and you brighten so many people's days! You are a bomb writer and I am sending extra love to you this week!
> 
> Xoxo, L

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

**Proper Introduction**

"Deep breaths, Hermione. If he wanted to kill you, you would already be dead." Finn paused outside the double doors of the room where the Dark Lord was waiting for them, giving her one last moment to ready herself. She checked her mind for what seemed the millionth time since they left the relative safety of their room, making sure it was properly occluded.

"So reassuring, Finn," she said through clenched teeth. Her hands were shaking, her breath was shallow, and her heart felt like it was pounding out of her chest.

"Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He let out a short humourless laugh, said "No," and opened the door.

 

xXxXxXx

 

Hermione was very focused on not falling on her face. Finn had insisted she wear heels, and walking in shoes designed to make you unsteady while you were already overly nervous was really no easy task. She focused on each step, one foot in front of the other, as she made her way to the front of the very large room.

After a quick glance around, Hermione recognised it as the room she was initially brought into, and subsequently tortured inside of. She shuddered, barely suppressing her desire to cower behind Finn, or at the least hold his hand for support.

Funny how the man who was torturing her only a few weeks ago was now the one who she turned to for safety and comfort. Captivity was having a strange effect on her, that was for sure.

Scanning the room once more, Hermione spotted Rodolphus and Lucius standing off to the side of Voldemort, looking both tense and relaxed at the same time; like they were slightly uncomfortable, but also used to feeling that way. She wondered if anyone was really  _comfortable_  in this man's presence.

 _Bellatrix_  probably was, she thought. That woman was crazy.

Finn slowed before stopping completely and Hermione walked the remaining few steps to stand along side him. She kept her gaze downcast but saw Finn bow slightly as he addressed Voldemort.

"My Lord, may I introduce you to Hermione Granger," he said, taking Hermione's hand and holding it up as if she were an offering.

"My Lord," Hermione said quietly as she curtsied slightly, just as Finn had instructed her to do.

Her stomach dropped when the man took her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the back of it ever so lightly. A chill washed over her as every hair on a her arms stood on end and she fought the burning instinct that was screaming at her to pull back and run.

"I am delighted to finally have a proper introduction, Hermione. Though I think from now on it would be Hermione Lestrange, would it not?" he asked in a voice that made her blood run cold.

Hermione timidly glanced up, forcing a smile across her face. "It would, My Lord." The words felt like acid in her mouth.

"Wonderful," he said with much more enthusiasm than Hermione had thought possible. He let her hand go gently and turned to sit on the throne like chair he had been in when they entered.

"Now, gentlemen, I think Miss Lestrange and I have some… private matters to discuss. Rodolphus, Lucius, I do believe you have tasks to attend to this morning. Rowle, you may wait outside for Miss Lestrange."

If Hermione's heart had been beating rapidly before, it was nearly exploding out of her chest now. She was positive that it could be heard by the others in the room. Finn hadn't told her Voldemort would want to speak with her alone! What was he going to do? What could he possibly want with her alone?

Hands uncontrollably shaking at her sides, she clasped them behind her back in hopes of hiding her nerves. Hermione looked at Finn, who hadn't noticeably reacted at Voldemort's request.  _She_  could tell he was uneasy but knew that no one else would be able to. Spending nearly every waking moment with only one person for an extended amount of time meant you were keyed into their subtle responses in a way that others were not.

Lucius and Rodolphus bowed quickly and left the room, the latter giving Hermione's arm a gentle squeeze as he passed. She assumed it was meant as reassuring, but fatherly touches from Rodolphus were still something that made her want to cringe. Finn turned to her and placed a hand on her lower back—which really  _was_  comforting—before he leant in and kissed her cheek, whispering "breathe" as he did.

"My Lord," he said, bowing once more to the man before turning and leaving Hermione alone with Lord Voldemort, the Darkest Wizard there was.

Remaining silent and trying to control her breathing, she waited for the monster in front of her to speak. Hermione watched as he stood from the throne-chair again and slowly walked forward, circling her in silence. She did her best not to tremble but knew he must be able to see her shaking limbs.

He slowly made a full circle before stopping to face her.

"I must say, I am surprised that you have chosen to stay, Hermione." His voice was quiet but icy.

Straightening up, Hermione looked up into his eyes. "I wasn't aware I had a choice."

He laughed.

Lord Voldemort laughed, and it made her so incredibly uneasy. This man was supposed to be abhorrent and monstrous and revolting, and Hermione knew all of that was true, but—but here he was, laughing and smiling as though she had just said the most amusing thing he'd heard all day. Laughter hadn't even been on her radar of things to expect when she walked into this room.

"Well aren't you a delight, child. I must say, I am surprised you turned out so favourably; Rodolphus isn't one known for his looks. You must get that from your mother." He gripped her chin with one hand, much gentler than she would have thought him capable of, and turned her face to the sides, examining her.

He looked directly into her eyes and Hermione felt it right away when the icy tendrils began to poke at her barriers. How could she not feel it? It was more painful than any other time she'd experienced Legillimency. It felt like ice picks drilling into the crevices of her mind. She closed her eyes briefly and took a breath. When she opened them the room around her was blurry and she was sure the headache that was steadily increasing in measure would last several days, at least.

She was so wrapped up in the pain that it startled her when he spoke, causing her to jump slightly.

"A good Legillimens should be able to penetrate a mind unbeknownst to the subject, or so they say. I could certainly get the same results without any pain but I find watching someone struggle against me quite… intoxicating," he paused to look directly into her eyes.

"I find myself rather intrigued by you, but know that I do not trust you, child."

Hermione felt her stomach turn to knots and a paralysing fear washed over her body.

"You would be a great asset to our cause, Hermione. I can sense that your magic is powerful and you are wise beyond your years. You will learn great things here but they won't do you any good if you simply plan to betray us and return to the Order. Dumbledore's people will not allow the use of anything you learn here, and you will be forced back into the box that they have created for you—no room for any  _real_  growth or development."

When he finally released her mind, Hermione nearly sagged with relief. She managed to stay mostly still though, watching as Voldemort returned to his chair once more. She felt confident, though, that he had not been able to gain access past her barriers. Hermione felt herself stand just a little taller at that thought.

"Why are you allowing me to stay, if you think I am going to run back to the Order the first chance I get?" she asked.

Seeming to ignore her question, he smiled as he replied. "I think I will quite like having a Gryffindor among our ranks, assuming you make it a permanent stay. Rodolphus is quite fond of you. Narcissa and Rowle as well, it would seem, though I am not entirely sure why. Were it not for their disgusting pleading, I would have had you done away with quickly. As it stands, you will be trained by Narcissa to be a proper pureblood wife and married off as soon as you are fit. Our male numbers outweigh our females, and we will need to continue the bloodlines if we wish to be successful in the long run. What a happy coincidence for you, that you perfectly fit that bill."

He was smiling, one leg crossed over the other, and looking completely comfortable and at ease. Hermione, on the other hand, felt nauseous.

Nauseous and angry.

"Why have Rowle spend so much time training me then, if the end goal is simply procreation?" she demanded, fists clenched at her sides. "Why use the resources to train me to be a Death Eater, only to cast me aside when it's time for the  _continuation of the bloodlines."_

"You will not be asked to raise the beasts." He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "I simply need your lineage and your womb. Once you have fulfilled that duty, you will be welcome to rejoin the ranks as an active member, assuming your merits qualify."

"Wonderful. Do I get any choice in this at all?" Hermione rolled her eyes as she spoke, her anger overriding her fear momentarily.

"You can choose to stay and fulfil these duties, or, alternatively, you can choose to die. I myself find the choice quite simple." The man shrugged slightly when he said this as if they weren't discussing slavery and execution.

In the silence that followed, Hermione realised that she was not as nervous as she had been upon entering the room. Yes, she was still anxious and on edge, but the downright fear had left her. The Dark Lord, Voldemort, darkest wizard of their time, was a man. He was a  _man_. And men were not infinite.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted when Voldemort spoke again. "If you prove to be a good asset, however, I might let you have a say in your husband." He let half a smile spread across his face as he spoke, getting to his feet once more and moving to stand directly in front of her. He gripped her chin again, tilting it up until her eyes met his. "You have a choice here, child. I know right now you are planning on running back to the Order the first chance you get, and when that chance comes, I will not stop you."

Hermione's mouth opened slightly as her eyes grew wider.

"I am Lord Voldemort. You think there are things that I do not know? You think there are things you can hide from me? Do not be so foolish, girl. Of course you want to go back to the Order right now. You have a lifetime of morality to overcome before you will be able to accept yourself here. Once you do that, however, you will be able to rise above your wildest dreams. Your magic will have no limits—you will be unbound, released from the restraints of a society determined to keep you from your potential. You have more potential, Hermione, than I have ever seen. Your power vibrates beneath your skin, waiting to be released, you just have to let go. Don't you want that power?"

"Power destroys people."

"It can, yes," he said, nodding his head. "But it doesn't have to. You are smart, young, and your inherent ability is staggering, Hermione. Use that. Use it to become something. You can amount to much more than you'd ever dreamed. Do you think you could have been anything more than a glorified secretary, or professor, before this? As a  _mudblood_?"

Hermione glared at the man in front of her, but he spoke again before she had a chance to reply.

"You could change the world, Hermione. By my side, you will be able to do that. Dumbledore's people will only hold you back."

Her mind was racing, trying to process everything that was being said. Trying to drown the ideas being laid out to her before they had a chance to grow.

"Do not get me wrong, Hermione. I do not trust you. You are a spy behind enemy lines and everyone knows that. You have an opportunity, however, to become something greater than you'd planned; to develop your magic and turn it into a truly great force. I believe that you just need time to see that for yourself. Let us show you what you can become—your future promises a greatness that you are yet unprepared for. Give in to the darkness. Let yourself thrive here—see what dark magic can do for you."

Hermione glared at the man. He was still standing only inches from her, looking smug as he watched her begin to process this.

"Come back to me when you are ready to accept yourself here, child. I can offer you a life beyond your wildest dreams, you just have to be willing to take it." He gave her one last meaningful look before turning from her and walking toward his chair. He threw one hand up, almost absentmindedly, and Hermione heard the doors behind her fling open, crashing into the walls on either side. She saw Finn standing there, a worried look on his face before he concealed it under a mask of indifference, and tilted his head sideways, one arm extended slightly, questioning her.

Hermione turned back to the throne-chair. Voldemort was seated, watching her, a smug look on his face. "My Lord," she said, curtsying once before straightening and turning away from him, walking steadily out of the room. She took Finn's proffered arm and let him lead her down the hall and back to the seclusion of their room where she let out a breath it felt like she'd been holding since those doors opened.

 

xXxXxXx

 

"What if I were able to alter your perceptions a little bit? A spell that would help you get over the moral dilemma—let you just be who you need to be here?" Finn had his fingers steepled and was looking at her with a glint in his eye that made her a little nervous.

"What  _exactly_  are you thinking? There's no way you're going to be meddling around in my mind with some half-cocked plan, Thorfinn Rowle." Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Well, I was thinking…your problem is that you can't let go of your morality. You can't get yourself in the right mindset to drop into this role because it feels too wrong to you. What if we were able to override that?"

"Make me forget I'm a good person?" Hermione scoffed and shook her head. "That sounds like a terrible idea, Finn."

"No, not make you forget, exactly. I need to do some more research, but I remember seeing a spell in one of the old books, and I think we might be able to alter it enough to make it work here. Just to give you the push you need to be able to do this. Because as it stands, well…" He trailed off and Hermione looked up at him incredulously.

"What, Finn? As it stands, what?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and daring him to answer.

"You want the truth? You suck at this, Hermione."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're trying, I know you are, but you just aren't built for this. There's nothing wrong with needing a little help, especially with this."

"I don't—" Hermione started to argue, but was cut off by Finn, who just kept talking over her.

"Hear me out, Hermione. Dark magic, it's—it's alive. It works in your body, you can't just use it like you can Light magic. You have to  _mean_ it. If you resist Dark magic, Dark magic will resist you. We just have to get you past your own resistance.  _That's_  all the spell will do. Help you help yourself."

"And you just happen to know of a spell that will do that?" she asked doubtfully.

"Well, not exactly. I would need some of your brain power to tweak the spell I'm thinking of, but I really think it could work."

"What spell are you going to tweak?" she asked.

Finn seemed to fidget just a little before he answered, looking down at his glass rather than in her eyes. "Well, there is a spell that has been used to, uh, coerce a woman into, uh, marrying a man—to do it willingly," he finished, looking like he was waiting for her to yell at him.

Hermione glared at him. "You think that it's  _willing_  if you've put a spell on the woman to make her do it?!"

" _I_  don't think that, no, but technically, that  _is_  how magic works. The spell just makes the witch seem to think it's a good idea, and sort of pre-bonds her to the wizard. Now if we modify it just enough, we could eliminate the pre-bonding, and expand the notion to more than just a wedding. Make it more of an overall thing. Focus it on the idea of Dark magic. That way you'd be less reluctant. It's worth a look, Hermione."

"Yeah, sure. Best idea ever, Finn. Just mess around in my mind with some spell we alter, likely turning me into a mindless drone who does whatever she's told." Hermione huffed and glared across the table.

It had been three days since her meeting with Voldemort, and three days that Finn had been trying to come up with something that would gain her trust around here. If she was being honest with herself, this almost sounded like a good idea, and that was what really scared her. Because if she did go through with it, if she let him do whatever it was that would make things easier for her, there was no telling what would happen. Would she still be able to keep her mind occluded? Would she be able to keep her secrets, or would she become a mindless drone? Would she forget why she was there; what her job was? There were just too many unknowns and modifying a spell was a very risky idea.

"Well, you need to do something, Hermione. You can't keep going on like this. No one is going to believe you and that is going to get you killed." Finn's voice was soft, but harsh. He obviously felt strongly about this and Hermione could tell he was worried.

"Get me the spell, Finn. Get me the books I will need to figure out how to modify it. I'd like to make sure I won't be giving up Order secrets if we do this."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," she said softly.

Finn winked at her. "Anything for you, doll."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head at his antics. "So what is on the agenda today? I know I have lessons with Narcissa in the afternoon, but anything this morning?"

"You need to run more. You're getting fat."

"Finn!" She gasped and threw an orange at him, which he easily dodged. "You are so rude!"

"Kidding, kidding! Salazar witch, have you seen yourself lately? You're still far too skinny. But you do need to work on your endurance and your strength. So we're going to be running." Finn wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood from the table.

"Finish up and get dressed, doll. I have a desire to watch you lose today," he said, laughing when she threw an apple this time.

"Why are you such an arse, Rowle?" Hermione stood from the table and made her way to her dresser, pulling out her running clothes and changing into them.

"Have you noticed how much better you do when it's a competition?" he asked.

"What?"

"When you're competing with me—trying to out do me—you perform much better. I'm realising it's your best motivator." He only smirked when she scowled at him.

"Well now I'm not sure if I want to let you win on purpose just to prove you wrong, or if I want to beat you even more," she said, laughing as they left the room.

 

xXxXxXx

Uncomfortable. Ridiculous. Suffocating.

These were the words Hermione would use to describe herself right now.

It seemed these lessons with Narcissa were just getting worse and worse. The woman had clearly thought to ease her into things, which on one hand was considerate, but also meant they kept getting harder and harder, and she really had no idea what to expect each time she came.

Today she had been squeezed into a dress Narcissa had provided upon her arrival—apparently, the one she had worn was too casual—and her shoes had been changed. Hermione was now in death trap shoes and a dress she was sure was meant to crush her ribs.

Nevertheless, Narcissa was certain this was the perfect time to recite what Hermione now referred to as the 'Scope of the Stupid twenty-eight.' In other words, the Sacred twenty-eight and any relevant information on those families such as Heads of House, heirs, estates, political leanings, affiliation with the Dark Lord, etc. So much information that Hermione found tedious and absurd, yet Narcissa insisted would be invaluable for her to know.

Not only did she have to recite the information. Oh no. She had to do it while walking around the room in the highest heels ever and making sure it looked like she was  _"gliding."_

"Come now darling, you are stomping again. You must have a gentle stride, glide across the floor," Narcissa chided for the umpteenth from her seat at the table, where she was sipping tea, comfortably. "Ladies are meant to be seen, not heard."

Hermione blinked repeatedly and forced a smile in order to keep from rolling her eyes at the maddening woman. Who would really care if she made a little noise when she walked? Or if she didn't have every stupid pureblood custom down? It's not like she was being treated like a legitimate pureblood anyway. She was to be sold and bred, and that was that.  
Huffing, Hermione started back on her recitations, trying to push the thoughts from her mind. It did not do to dwell.

"The Notts. Thorous Nott, eldest of the name, no living wife. Marked supporter with many political ties. Lives in his home in Waverley, Surrey, joined by his only son when school is out of session. Theodore Nott, only son of Thorous and Elladora Nott. Unmarked, as of yet. Graduates Hogwarts this year. Currently in a self-appointed courtship with Daphne Greengrass." Hermione finished off her list of facts and looked to Narcissa who nodded slightly, satisfied.

"Very good. Now, come sit for tea and tell me how your other training is going," she said, flicking her wand at the chair across from her which gently slid out from the table.

Hermione did her best to  _glide_  to the table and perch herself in the chair, crossing her legs at the ankle,  _not_  the knee. She had learned quickly that ladies do not cross at the knee.

"Tell me, how is it going with Mr. Rowle? The truth," Narcissa said, smiling kindly at Hermione.

The woman was intimidating and clearly tough as nails under her perfect exterior, but she had a way of making Hermione feel at ease and welcome.

Hermione took a moment to think. She didn't want to tell the truth, but she didn't want to lie, either. She went with, "Things are progressing."

"Darling, do work on your poker face. Women often have reason to keep their cards close to their chests, but we must make sure the men are still under the assumption that we  _have_  no cards." Narcissa raised her eyebrows and took another sip. "What are you two working on?"

"Duelling, mostly," Hermione said.

"And are you any good?"

Narcissa must have been able to tell that she was slightly offended because she quickly waved her hand and spoke again. "I know you are a very talented witch, Hermione. What I'm asking is specifically in reference to the darker magic. How are you handling  _that?"_

"It's… not great," she admitted, dropping her gaze into her lap. Admitting defeat was something that had never been easy for her.

"I would imagine not. Dark Magic is not for the weak of heart. Thorfinn is a wonderful teacher, however, and I have no doubt you will succeed in this, the same as you have in everything else you set your mind to," she said. Hermione looked up and saw the woman smiling genuinely at her.

"Oh, my," Narcissa said looking at the clock on the wall. "I'm afraid I have another appointment today, and I mustn't be late." She set her cup down and dabbed her napkin delicately along her mouth.

Hermione stood from the table and accepted the hug and pecks to the cheeks.

"I am trying," she whispered.

"Of course you are. This is a new life for you, it only makes sense that it would take some time to adjust. Just, don't take too long, dear."

Hermione walked to the door with Narcissa and smiled at Finn, who greeted them upon its opening.

"Lady Malfoy, Hermione," he said, bowing slightly.

"Thorfinn, always a pleasure. I must be off. Next week, Hermione, we will be practising duelling. I expect you to wear the dress and shoes." Narcissa pointed one finger up and down at Hermione's ensemble, smiling mischievously before turning and gracefully hurrying off.

Hermione groaned loudly and Finn laughed.

"She is going to whoop your—"

"Finn!"

xXxXxXx


	37. Enjoy My Scent, Woman!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Guys! I am getting closer to my goal number of chapters ahead, so I'm hoping by the end of summer I will be back to posting weekly again! Fingers crossed! Anyway, so much love to all you beautiful souls!  
>  Xoxo, L

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN  
Enjoy My Scent, Woman!**

Hermione heard Finn growl from the other side of the room. "You're getting better, witch, but it isn't enough, yet. Do you really think you are going to gain the Dark Lord's trust, not to mention the other Death Eater's, with a stupefy?"

Breathing hard, she ducked behind the crates. "Even if I use _unforgivables,_ there is still no guarantee that they'll trust me!" Hermione jumped up and flung her wand in the area she now knew Finn was hiding. "Flipendo!"

She didn't stay standing long enough to watch the crates topple over, but hearing Finn grunt and hiss in pain let her know she had landed at least some of them on him. Crawling away from the crates she headed toward the wall where there was some cover behind an old desk, wincing every time she put weight on her left arm.

"We need to finish modifying that spell. Once we do that, it will all be easier—Reducto!"

Hermione scrambled away from the wall as the desk blew apart in front of her. She could feel blood running down her face, blurring her vision, but she kept moving. There was no way she was letting Finn win again. He would just use it as more proof that she needed to do the spell that he thought would help her _cross over_ to the dark side, or whatever. She did not need more of that right now, so she had to win. She'd been trying to avoid talking about or researching the spell because, honestly, it frightened her.

Another blast exploded above her head bringing her back to reality and Hermione felt the rubble crashing down around her. Pushing to her feet, she sprinted for a bookshelf that was already on its side. Ducking behind it she strained her ears and tried to pinpoint where sounds were coming from. Whatever he had blasted apart just now was still falling, but across the room she could hear a scraping. Hermione risked a quick peek over the bookshelf and saw one of the crates moving.

She aimed her wand and shouted, "Confringo!" before ducking back down quickly to take cover.

"Expelliarmus! Levicorpus."

Hermione suddenly found herself upside down with no wand, one foot securely held up by Finn's jinx.

"Deception, doll. I know you like to think the best of the Order, but they won't always play fair, which means we can't train playing fair, either."

"Alright, you arse, you won. Can we dissect my failings when I'm vertical?" She was struggling to push her skirt up without success. It wasn't that she was overly uncomfortable being exposed as such—she'd been living with the man for nearly two months now—it was just that being hung upside down with your knickers showing for all the world to see felt completely vulnerable, and was his way of rubbing it in that he'd won. And that pissed her off.

A wicked grin spread across his face and Hermione quickly corrected herself.

"Vertical with my feet on the _ground_ you brute!"

"Well that's all you had to say then," he said as he laughed and let her down. "Although, I personally find conversations of any sort are much better when knickers are on display." He laughed deeply and offered a hand to help her up.

Properly vertical, she straightened her skirts and held her hand out for her wand. Finn placed it in her hand but looked at her with a severe expression.

"Seriously, though. You can't let your guard down like that. You were easily distracted by the moving crate, and while you were, I was able to sneak around and disarm you from behind. Hermione your opponent isn't going to flip you upside down and compliment your knickers; you have to do better than this."

"No one in the Order would hurt me, Finn."

"Maybe not at first, but if you stay, their trust for you will only last so long. One day they won't see Hermione anymore, they'll just see another Death Eater."

"That won't—"

"If you want to make any headway here, that is exactly what you _want_ to happen, as hard as it will be. You're still acting like you are going back to them, Hermione." Finn put a hand on her shoulder and the sympathy in his eyes was vexing. "Until this war is over, it's this or death, Hermione."

She impatiently shook his hand off and began walking toward the door. "Unless I make it out of here—escape."

His quiet "Yeah," was barely heard as she headed out of the room.

A few paces down the hall, Hermione looked back to Finn, watching as he shut the door of the training room they had just wrecked behind him. As she was turning back to head around the corner, she crashed into a solid body.

"Oh!" she gasped, quickly steadying herself and looking up to see who she ran into.

"I was wondering when I would see you again."

Years of ingrained politeness made sure that when the man held out his hand to shake, Hermione reached out as well. Although he didn't shake. Instead, he brought her fingers up to his lips and kissed softly, bowing slightly as he did.

"Antonin Dolohov, at your service." He smiled before releasing her hand and looking over her shoulder, his expression darkening somewhat. "Rowle, I'm surprised to be running into you this afternoon. I haven't seen much of you lately."

"I've been busy," Finn said as he came up behind Hermione, placing a possessive hand around her waist. Something in her gut made Hermione stay put rather than push away from the touch. It was rare for Finn to do much more than offer her his arm in public, nor was he ever possessive over her, especially since he knew—or at least had unconfirmed suspicions—about her and Draco, so an arm around her waist was an alarm bell to Hermione. This behaviour was something else entirely. This was a show, and Hermione instinctively knew to let it play out as he was leading.

She saw the slightest quirk of Dolohov's eyebrow before he schooled his expression, and deferred to Finn. "I can see that. I wasn't aware your babysitting gig involved so much bodily damage." He gestured to Hermione, who reached a hand up to wipe at the blood on her face. "I thought you were supposed to be taking _care_ of her, not harming her."

"Training got a little rough today. She will be fine."

"I hope so. I don't think the Dark Lord would be too pleased if she were ruined, not to mention how her future suitors would feel."

Hermione fought back the bile rising in her throat. The man was talking about her as if she weren't standing right there next to him, and the way he said 'future suitors' sounded like _he_ wanted to be said suitor. It was creepy and disgusting.

"I'm sure the Dark Lord would let me know if he had any issues with our training regime. As it stands, he's said nothing, so we will continue on until we're told otherwise." Finn's words were clipped and cold. It was clear he did not like the man standing in front of them, but Hermione wasn't sure why, even though she was inclined to feel the same.

"I wasn't aware that a _lady_ needed to be learning battle tactics."

"A well-rounded background holds a certain advantage, especially in our line of work, wouldn't you say?"

"Not everyone needs a _well-rounded background_ ," Dolohov said as he sneered at Finn.

Hermione was incredibly uncomfortable and starting to worry about the direction of this conversation. Dolohov and Finn didn't seem to get along at all, and she could almost feel the tension between them, centring around her.

"If you have a problem, take it up with the Dark Lord. Otherwise, we best be on our way."

Dolohov's sneer only lifted once he turned back to Hermione. He reached out and took hold of her hand once more. Bowing down he placed another kiss on her skin, this time to her wrist, which gave Hermione the creepy chills. "My lady," he said as he stood back up, his eyes appraising her as though she were standing there for his pleasure alone. He let her hand go, which she immediately drew behind her back to rub surreptitiously at the spot his lips had touched. Straightening, Dolohov gave one last look at Hermione before turning to Finn.

"Rowle," he said, nodding once.

"Dolohov," Finn replied brusquely.

He kept his hand securely around Hermione's waist until Dolohov had disappeared down the hallway completely. When the man was finally out of sight, Finn turned to her and raised his eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that; I don't know what that was about," she said, still rubbing at her wrist. It felt dirty.

"You know who he is, right?"

Hermione turned to Finn and levelled him with quite possibly the most exasperated expression she had ever used—and that was saying a lot, coming from the girl who was best friends with Harry Potter.

She lifted the hem of her shirt enough to expose the still very purple, very visible scar that sat across her ribs, maring her skin. "Do you honestly think I could see this damn scar every day and forget the man who gave it to me?"

"Fine, fine." He laughed, seeming to let go of most of the tension that had built up during the interaction with Dolohov. Finn reached out and pushed her shirt back down, looking around the hallway. "Keep your clothes on, you harlot," he said, winking at her and offering his arm, which she took.

"You are ridiculous, you know that?" Hermione laughed as she let Finn lead her back toward their room.

"You do realise that if anyone saw that little display, there's a good chance they'd have us married by the new moon, right?"

"I'm sorry, _what_?" She giggled and made a face at him.

"You just showed much more skin than a lady would in the presence of a gentleman, which would lead onlookers to believe that there was more than friendship between us, and that would require an immediate union to preserve your delicate reputation."

Hermione stopped walking and turned to look at Finn. "I _live_ with you. What does that do to my _delicate_ reputation?"

"I never claimed that pureblood societal rules made any sense," he said, shrugging. "It's easier to ignore something that isn't seen."

"Good grief." She rolled her eyes and continued to their room, stopping to let Finn open the door for her. She walked through and to the little table, pouring drinks as she waited for him.

"Alright doll, let's see those wounds." Finn had shut the door and was walking toward where Hermione stood.

"I haven't even really seen this one yet," she said, raising her arm gingerly. "But you can start on my face. If Narcissa saw this she would have a hernia."

Finn laughed and walked toward the bedside table where he kept the potions and medkits. "Go ahead and take off your shirt before the blood dries—that would be a bitch to peel off."

Hermione was struggling to pull the shirt over her head without moving her injured arm too much when Finn returned.

"Stop, stop, stop, before you hurt yourself. Or, before you hurt yourself even more," he said, chuckling. "Hold still."

Hermione felt his hands work the hem of her shirt over her head and she winced as he gently tugged the long sleeve off of her injured arm, exposing a deep gash in the flesh of her bicep.

"That's a bit worse than I was expecting," Finn said as he tossed the ruined shirt aside.

"Well, it's not like you were playing easy. Plus, I'm not sure if you noticed, but it looks like I got you pretty good, too." Hermione gestured to the line of blood leaking through his shirt at the shoulder and sipped at her firewhisky.

He glanced down at the stain and rolled his eyes. "That's nothing," he said, taking her glass from her and drinking, rather than reaching for his own.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, you might as well let me heal it before it becomes _something_. Besides, I just like to use my wand," she said, smirking as she tugged the collar of his shirt slightly to get a better look at the wound. When she couldn't pull the neck down far enough to get a good look, she waved her hands. "Take that off and give me back my drink."

Finn handed her the glass and made a teasing expression before he playfully said, "Hermione the Harlot, disrobing gentleman for her pleasure seeking—"

"Finn, you creep, shut up! Just take off your shirt and let me see that cut!" Hermione laughed as he proceeded to playfully strip the shirt off, rolling her eyes when he threw it and landed it on her head. "This is repulsive. It smells like sweat and blood, you know that, right?"

"Enjoy my scent, woman!" Finn said theatrically, taking the shirt from her hands and walking it to the clothes basket.

"You are ridiculous, and absurd, and inappropriate—" Hermione gasped dramatically, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. "Thorfinn Rowle, what would they say if they saw us now, huh? Are we to be married by the new moon, then?"

"Oh, Merlin, I hope not. As lovely as you are, I'm not ready for babies, and that's as high as your training ranks you currently. You have a very qualified womb, Miss Granger," Finn said as he bowed to her.

She giggled, clutching at her stomach. "Oh, bugger off, you. Leave me and my overqualified womb alone!" Hermione was still laughing when he sauntered back over to her with the medkit and a fresh bottle of firewhisky. The one on the table was nearly empty.

She was perched on the table, so Finn set the kit down in her lap, giving him free hands to uncap the bottle. He took a long swig and then filled her glass. She was getting quite used to drinking firewhisky, and, though she wouldn't admit it, found she was becoming fond of the taste, as well as the effects of the drink. It really did take the edge off of everything; it let her forget for just a few moments what exactly she was doing here.

Feeling cheeky, Hermione took the bottle from Finn and, in a very unladylike manner, matched his guzzle before placing the bottle back on the table. "Alright, let me see that shoulder, then." She reached out and pushed his body so that he turned, bringing the wound closer to her, then reached into the bag on her lap. Hermione pulled out the Dittany and handed it to Finn. She muttered a healing spell, and watched the cut begin to stitch itself back together. After it was closed, she held out her hand, into which Finn placed the now open phial. "A few drops of this, and… there," she said smiling. "Good as new."

"Thanks, doll," he said as he worked his shoulder in a circle.

"Your turn, close your eyes."

Hermione did as he asked and heard him whisper, " _Tergeo."_

"What was that between you and Dolohov?" she asked as she opened her eyes and watched him work on her head, healing the wound there.

"He's just mad I got this job is all."

"What do you mean?"

"He nearly begged the Dark Lord let him be the one to train and babysit you." Finn shrugged before applying the Dittany to her head. "He has this fascination with you because you're the only one who's survived that curse of his."

"That's…creepy." Involuntary shudders crept down her body.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was first in line for your hand when the time comes."

"Eww." Hermione cringed at the thought.

"Yeah, well, let's just make sure you're enough of an asset that when the time comes, you'll get a choice."

Hermione groaned, not wanting to think about that. "I hate this," she said quietly.

"I know," Finn replied. "Shall I?" He gestured to her arm, which was still bleeding.

Ignoring her glass, Hermione took another long drink from the bottle, sighing as the liquid warmed her throat. She nodded, turning slightly to give him better access to her arm.

Finn lifted his wand but was interrupted before he could begin by a rapid succession of knocks on the door. He looked at Hermione, but she just shrugged and took another drink from the bottle.

"You better slow down, witch. You've got tea bright and early with Narcissa tomorrow. It's a lot brighter, and a lot earlier, when you're hungover," he said with a laugh as he sauntered away.

She rolled her eyes and watched him open the door a crack to see who was there, taking another sip of the firewhisky.

She wasn't really _expecting_ anyone in particular, but the voice she heard on the other side of the door had her choking on her drink.

She hurriedly set the bottle back on the table and jumped down, landing wobbly on her feet, just in time to see a familiar face walk into the room. Hermione smiled brightly, completely forgetting her state of undress, as well as the gaping wound still bleeding on her arm.

She didn't even have a chance to cross the room before Draco turned to Finn, growled "What the fuck?" and punched the man solidly in the jaw.

xXxXxXx

"Draco! What the hell was that for?" Hermione shouted as Finn fell backwards from the force of the unexpected blow.

"I could ask you the same thing. I've been worried sick about you for weeks, and you've apparently been perfectly fine here with _him_ ," he spat, gesturing angrily to Finn.

"Wait, wait, wait. What?" She was trying to understand what was happening, but the firewhisky was apparently slowing her mental processing capabilities.

"You and fucking Rowle, that's what!" He shouted, turning for the door.

It finally clicked, and Hermione reached out, grabbing his arm before he could leave. "Draco, no," she said, letting out a short laugh. "Finn and I—just, no." She shook her head and waved off the notion. "Do you even see my arm?"

Draco stopped, apparently taking in her injury for the first time. "Merlin's sack, what the fuck happened?"

"Training, you prick," Finn said from the floor. "Now help me up and fix my face."

Draco looked confused and still a little pissed, but held out a hand and helped Finn to his feet.

"Hermione, doll," Finn said, grabbing her attention.

"What?"

"I am all for feminism and lady rights, but clothes may be appropriate just now."

Hermione looked down and gasped, having forgotten she wasn't wearing a shirt. She covered herself as her cheeks reddened. Finn winked at her and manoeuvred himself, then shoved Draco so his back was facing the dresser. Hermione scrambled over and pulled open the first drawer, figuring it would be easier to throw on one of Finn's t-shirts— even if it was way too big—than finding something of her own. She could hear Draco muttering healing spells, and when she turned back around—now properly covered—Finn looked brand new again.

Biting her lip, she walked, a bit unsteadily, to the bed next to where the boys were standing.

"Hi," she said quietly, looking up at Draco.

"Explain," he said, pointing a finger between herself and Finn. "Because whatever I just walked in on was not any kind of duelling I've ever been apart of."

xXxXxXx


	38. Don't Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Guys. I am SO excited for this. You've been so patient and wonderful. There is so much more to come still, but man! we've come a long way from the beginning! This is much longer than chapters have been recently, but I couldn't find a good place to split it, so… enjoy? I am SO excited to see your reactions to this one! I love you all!
> 
> **Xoxo, L**

 

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT  
Don't Think**

After briefly explaining their states of undress, and healing Hermione's arm— _and_ changing her shirt again, since she bled all over the one she'd just thrown on—Draco, Hermione and Finn were all at the table, each with a tumbler of firewhisky, sitting in a mildly uncomfortable silence.

Finn abruptly downed the contents of his glass and pushed his chair from the table, standing. "Alright, well as fun as this shit is, I have some errands I have to take care of."

Hermione raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "You told me this morning that you didn't have anything today."

"Plans change, doll." He winked and turned to Draco. "I'm going to assume you haven't been by to check in yet?"

Draco shook his head confirming Finn's assumption.

"Alright, you come with me then, before you get us all in trouble."

"Maybe I should come with you too," Hermione said, standing to join the boys and wobbling a bit as she did.

"Not a good idea, doll. You wait here, he'll be back shortly. Just—just wait here." Finn said, shaking his head at her.

"I'll be right back." Draco finished his glass of firewhisky in one gulp and followed Finn out of the room, leaving her utterly alone.

Hermione stared at the closed door for several minutes, trying to collect herself and figure out what in Merlin's name just happened. When the silence became overwhelming she poured another glass of firewhisky—probably a little fuller than she should have—and headed into the bathroom. She may not be covered in blood anymore, but she definitely could still use a shower.

"Huh," she said, glass halfway to her lips. She had planned on finishing her drink and then stepping in, but apparently fancy expensive rich people showers came with nice little spots to set your glasses. So she undressed, turned the water on and walked into the shower, drink in hand.

xXxXxXx

The two men walked in silence for a few moments, the tension only building between them. When the anger that had been brimming since he'd walked in on one of his best friends and the girl he couldn't stop thinking about, both half naked, finally spilt over, Draco grabbed Finn's arm and turned him roughly so that they were facing each other.

"Are you really going to pretend like nothing happened?" he said, seething.

"I don't have to _pretend_ , Draco. Nothing happened. We were training, we both got a little beat up, clothing had to be removed to properly heal wounds, and that's it."

"She didn't seem concerned about covering herself up until she remembered I was in the room. What, do you guys just walk about naked all the time then?" Draco raised his eyebrows challengingly.

"That's because she _likes_ you, you twat! She's comfortable around me, for Salazar's sake, we live together! She literally spends ninety percent of her time with me, so yeah, she's pretty comfortable in my presence." He shook his head and turned to continue walking down the hall. "Plus, she's still learning how to hold her alcohol—she probably didn't even realise she wasn't wearing a shirt until I pointed it out," Finn said, chuckling slightly.

It was silent for a moment again, as Draco let that sink in. "So you're saying there's nothing between you two?"

"Nothing." Finn shook his head.

After a brief, contemplative pause, he mumbled, "Sorry I punched you."

"It's fine mate," Finn said, chuckling. "Let's get this check in over with and then we'll get you back to her. Why _are_ you here, anyway?"

"Mother asked Snape for some very specific potions ingredients and books from the restricted section but was apparently unable to come to Hogwarts to pick them up."

Finn laughed loudly at that and Draco couldn't help but chuckle along with him.

"Your mum set you up for a booty call," Finn finally managed to get out, still laughing.

Draco swiftly punched Finn in the ribs, though the chuckle never left his throat. "Shut the bloody hell up, Rowle!"

xXxXxXx

When the door finally pushed open again, Hermione was on her feet walking toward it before she even saw who was coming through.

"Hi." Draco gently closed the door behind him and had the decency to look at least a little guilty.

"No yelling this time?" Hermione asked, stopping several feet from him and crossing her arms.

"Oh come on, Hermione, you can't blame me that for that reaction. Neither of you were even wearing clothes!"

"Shirts, neither of us were wearing _shirts_. And if you had taken even one moment to assess the situation, you would have seen blood-soaked clothes on the floor and the gaping wound on my arm, not to mention the dried blood and dirt on both of our bodies."

"Alright, I'm an arse, I get it. Am I at least an arse who can be forgiven?"

Hermione looked up into his eyes for several seconds, making him sweat it out before she uncrossed her arms and nearly ran into his. He held her tightly and they stood like that, together, for several moments, each soaking in the presence of the other.

When Hermione finally released her grip and stepped back slightly, Draco loosened his arms but did not let her go, and she had to fight the smile trying to cross her face. "I've missed you," she said. "How long do you have?"

"Snape will open the Headmaster's Floo at nine tomorrow morning," he replied, pulling her in close again and placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. "I've been worried about you."

The feel of his lips on her again—even just her hair—sent an excited rush through her body that she tried to ignore. "You don't think I can hold my own?" she asked through a grin that was impossible to hide.

"In a house full of Death Eaters? Sorry, but no."

Hermione playfully swatted his chest and rolled her eyes. "I actually think I've been doing alright."

Draco put his hands on her shoulders and held her out at arm's length, levelling her with a serious expression. "According to Finn, you're barely floating along, Hermione."

Rolling her shoulders to shake his grasp, Hermione took a step back. "What? No, I'm doing training with Finn, lessons with your mother, I've had to have meals with Rodolphus, I'm doing everything I'm supposed to!" She was confused and a little taken aback to hear that Finn thought she was doing poorly. _Why would Finn say that?_

"Exactly. You're floating. You're still resisting this, and it's not going to end well if you keep that up. The Dark Lord doesn't trust you yet, and neither do any of the other Death Eaters. If you want any chance to make it out of this alive, Hermione you have to get it right!"

"I don't—"

"Finn told me about the spell you two are working on. I think you should do it."

"Draco, I don't even fully know what the spell is! That is crazy, what if it—"

"When you're undercover, you have to _become_ your cover. You are still vacillating between Hermione Granger, Order member, and Hermione Lestrange, daughter of a Death Eater, supporter of the cause, blah blah blah," he said.

"I just don't know if it's a good idea to tamper around in my brain with a spell that does Merlin knows what, and could actually potentially blow my cover!" She was shouting now out of frustration. It was one thing for Draco to not see how hard she was trying—he was never here. But Finn? For Finn to tell him she wasn't good enough? That stung. And then having Draco march in like he knew everything that was going on and tell her what to do? Unbelievable.

"That's the thing though! Everyone here _knows_ you are still an Order member! They know you don't want to be here, that you're a prisoner, that you are only doing what you have to do to survive! And that's what is going to eventually get you killed!" He took a deep breath, running his hands down his face. "Hermione, look, I know this is hard for you. I know this is about as far out of your comfort zone as you can possibly go. I understand that your morality is on the line, but if you don't get this right you will die. He will kill you and then it will all have been for nothing, and—" His voice broke off and he looked away from her, taking a deep breath.

Hermione frowned. "I just don't think it's a good idea," she said, crossing her arms.

"You've been locked in this fucking house as a prisoner for fucking weeks, you wouldn't know a good idea if it flew past you on a Nimbus," he growled.

"It hasn't exactly been my choice to be stuck here, you know! It's not like this is some jolly good time for me! I'm locked in a room twenty-four seven unless I'm allowed out to either have a horrible meal with my repulsive father, get tossed around and banged up duelling or prepare to be some Death Eaters child bearing wife with your mother! You act like I'm resistant to this spell because I'm just enjoying things so much as they are, but that's not it, Draco! I'm terrified of losing myself to it! Think about it, really think about it." She was shouting and breathing heavily. "This spell, even altered, will affect my mind in ways that we don't really know. Will I still know right from wrong? Will I still be a good person? What will I consent to if my morals are gone? If I just don't care? Don't you understand why I am hesitant to give my mind up? It's my only weapon here! It's the one thing that they can't take from me, yet you're asking me to give it up! With unknown consequences!" Hermione took a ragged breath in and watched as Draco processed what she said. She really hadn't meant to explode on him like that, but the fears and anxiety about the spell had been building for days now, and it all just seemed to come to a head when he brought it up.

"Look, I understand that—"

"You don't, though. How could you?" She said, sighing and heading straight for her drink on the table.

"Alright, you're right. I don't understand, but I can at least see where you're coming from. I know this is scary for you but is it scarier than dying? Is it worse than being given to Bellatrix?"

At that Hermione shuddered and finished her glass. She closed her eyes and fought back the tears. She cried so much now and she hated it. These weren't tears of fear, though, they were tears of defeat. She knew he was right. If she was going to make this work, what difference did it make if her actions were consciously chosen or 'helped' with a spell? Maybe it would be easier, in the end, if she could tell herself she had been under the influence of a spell when she did the horrible things she knew she would have to do.

Pouring another glass, Hermione sank into the chair, taking a long sip. "Alright," she finally said.

Draco sighed and took the seat next to her. "Alright," he repeated quietly. "Alright."

They sat in silence for several minutes, letting the weight of her agreement settle around them.

Hermione frowned. Her mind has been playing out all sorts of possibilities in the silence, and it was doing nothing to ease her hesitation about the whole plan. "You really think it's a good idea to do the spell? Even not knowing exactly how it's going to affect me? Or, better, even knowing that it's going to encourage me to make-" she paused, crinkling her face. "To make bad decisions?"

"I think it's your only choice. And I don't think a decision for survival is a bad decision, Hermione."

She sighed deeply and tossed back the remaining amber liquid in her glass, standing and unsteadily walking to the bed where she plopped down and then dramatically flung herself backwards into the fluff. "I'm going to need more books," she said.

"Now if that isn't the most Granger-ish thing you've ever said, I'll sell my house elf." Draco laughed and walked to the bed to join her, sitting himself on the edge and pulling one leg up, crossing it.

Hermione pushed herself onto her elbows and scoffed. "Fucking _you_ can cross your legs at the knee," she said under her breath as she rolled her eyes.

"Are you sure you haven't already done the spell?" Draco asked, laughing again. At her look of confusion, he clarified. "You drink firewhisky like it's water and you seem to have lost your distaste of foul language."

"You can thank Finn for those," she said. The alcohol was coursing warm through her veins and she couldn't pull back the smile that was spreading across her face. Draco was finally here and she was not in a cell, beaten bloody, or unconscious. And they were _alone._

Hermione's mind was racing as she fought to override her nerves and lean in to kiss him, when the door to the room suddenly burst open and Finn walked through.

He had a grimace on his face that Hermione didn't like one bit.

"Up, up you go," he said to her, motioning with his hands.

She complied and stood from the bed only to wobble to the side and have to catch herself to keep from falling over. Apparently, she had been a little heavy handed with her firewhisky.

"Really, Hermione? Today?" He shook his head and quickly went to his dresser where he pulled a phial out filled with what she recognised as Sober-up potion.

"What's going on, Finn?" Draco asked.

"Macnair and Yaxley just got back from their reconnaissance mission. They found an Order house and we're leaving tonight to take it down."

Finn handed Hermione the potion which she drank down without hesitation. Her head was already clearing by the time Finn had set the bottle on the table.

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked, a slight panic in her voice. "What's going to happen?"

"I'm not sure yet. It's an all-hands op, the Dark Lord wants this taken care of. There's a good chance that Shacklebolt will still be at the residence and the Dark Lord wants him captured." Finn was yanking open his drawers and pulling out several articles of clothing, all black, Hermione noticed.

She watched as Finn quickly changed and then went for his cloak by the door. The one he never wore. His Death Eater cloak. It finally clicked for her, and Hermione gasped. "Finn, you aren't going?!"

"I am a Death Eater, doll," he said, fastening the last clasp of the cloak. He looked at Draco as he opened the door. "You will be staying here until I return, Dark Lord's orders. I suggest you two use this time to do more than snog. It was mentioned in the meeting that we aren't making enough progress, Hermione. The other Death Eaters aren't buying it at all and want you ready to be out on missions, and soon, or…" He trailed off, making a slight face.

"Or what?" Hermione demanded.

"You know what happens if you don't make this work, Hermione." Finn looked at her with a stern expression before turning to Draco again. "Train her," he said, and then he was gone. The thud of the door shutting echoed around the room while Hermione and Draco both stared after it as if they were waiting for him to return.

The clock ticked, the seconds went by, and still, they stood. Neither sure what to make of what had just happened.

Eventually, Hermione turned, walked to Finn's Dresser and pulled out appropriate duelling clothes. She then rummaged through her own drawers to find another duelling appropriate outfit for herself, since the one she had been wearing was now in tatters on the floor from today's earlier practise.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, meeting her at the dresser.

"You heard what Finn said. Practice." She handed over the stack of Finn's clothes with a shrug. "I'm assuming you don't want to ruin your fancy clothes," she said, smirking.

"You think I'd ruin my clothes in a duel?" he scoffed.

"I think you might be surprised." She laughed and took her own clothes into the washroom, shutting the door behind her.

"You do realise this is my home, right Granger? I have my own clothes here," he shouted through the door.

"This is quicker," she replied. Not that the five minutes it would take him would be that detrimental to their practice time, but Hermione's nerves were on overdrive after what Finn said. She knew he meant they were talking about marrying her off sooner rather than later. She had to get this down and she had to get it down fast.

Several minutes later they were both walking down the hall of an eerily quiet manor. Not that it was often bustling with life, but with so many people living and working here, it often had a certain hum of activity. Hermione made her way to the duelling room in silence, trying not to worry about Finn or the Order members that were now in danger. This was so messed up. She quickened her pace, hearing Draco do the same just behind her.

When they got to the room, Draco slipped in front and pushed the door, holding it open for her. Hermione smiled at him and entered the training room. She heard the door click shut and Draco whistle behind her. "You two sure did a number on this room," he said looking around at the destroyed crates and furniture.

Hermione watched him walk around the room for a moment silently before he turned back to face her. His expression made her uneasy.

"What?" she asked. "What are you planning?"

"Why do you think I'm planning something?"

"Draco, don't play around. What?" She absently pulled the stone at her neck from under her blouse and fingered it—a nervous habit she'd picked up with the Galleon.

"I was just thinking, about the spell you were talking about."

"And?" Hermione pushed.

"And it sounds a lot like a very modified Imperious," he said.

Hermione stared at him.

He held up his hands, obviously trying to calm her before she overreacted.

"So I was thinking, you're so worried about how you will react to this spell, what if we just tried an Imperious, here, right now? Just enough that you would be more willing to work with the Dark magic. Not _making_ you use it, but making you _want_ to use it."

"Draco, I don't think—"

"Good, don't think. Just try it out. Listen, Hermione, you want to know how that spell will affect you? This is your best bet in getting a taste of it. Finn is treating you with kid gloves. You need to figure this shit out, and you need to figure it out fast!"

"Fine. Fine! Do the stupid spell, Draco. Let's see how much of my mind I will be able to keep while I do whatever it is Death Eaters do! While I pretend to try and kill my friends, while I no doubt torture and kill innocent muggles, muggle-borns and blood-traitors! Let's find out how much of my mind I will keep while I get their blood on my hands!" Hermione was breathing heavily and she could feel the blood rising to her skin in her anger. He was right about it being a good like-type spell _and_ he was right that it was a good idea to test out the effects before performing the _actual_ spell, but it just felt like she was losing something. Like she was turning her head on morality and that was scary.

"I realise this isn't fucking ideal, Hermione! You don't think I realise that? Obviously, this whole situation is fucked up and if I could change it, I would, but I can't! You are stuck with this for now, so you had better make the best of what you've got and fucking figure it out before it's _your_ life on the line!"

"It _already_ _is_ mylife on the line, Draco! Don't you understand that!? What kind of life do you think I can live after this? Even if I do make it out, which honestly, chances are looking more and more bleak each day—but even if I did, do you think I would just be welcomed back with open arms? How much blood will I have on my hands by then? And whose? Whose life will _I_ have ended? Is their life really less important than mine? How can I decide something like that?" Hermione was shouting and stalking toward Draco. She was inches from his face, breathing heavily. "My life is already on the line, every day that I'm here. Every fucking day! If it isn't the Dark Lord, it's Bellatrix, or probably any number of other Death Eaters who don't approve of my being here. Eventually, it will be my own friends, Draco. They won't have any choice but to aim their wands my way, because I won't have any choice but to aim mine theirs! How fucked up is that, huh?"

"I know, Hermione, I do, but—"

Those two words had done it for her. He didn't know. He didn't know what this was like for her. He may be here against his will but at least everyone he cared about was here, too! He wasn't going to be forced to aim his Avadas at his own people, at his friends. He wasn't in her shoes. He wasn't even here! He'd been at Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake.

Hermione took two calculated steps back and raised her wand. She waited for a moment, as Draco raised his own, clearly understanding her intention, and taking several steps back as well. She gave him a count of five.

"Confringo!" she shouted, aiming at the stack of crates behind Draco.

He threw up a shield just in time to miss getting showered by falling rubble. Hermione used that to her advantage, throwing a slashing spell, which hit him in the arm. She waited a moment too long though, and he landed the same spell on her thigh. Hermione hissed in pain.

"Flippendo!" she screamed, not waiting this time to see the effect. Hermione ran for cover behind a large overturned table that was further into the room. She heard Draco hit something and grunt, but she didn't wait. Crawling to the other end of the table, Hermione used a distraction, sending a footsteps spell to her left. She saw a bright blue light shoot in the direction she'd sent the sound and quickly made her way across the room to where she spotted three stacked crates she could duck behind.

She was quick enough to make it to the crates, but not quick enough that she wasn't seen. She hardly had time to throw herself to the right as the crates she had taken cover behind were blown to pieces. She heard Draco walking across the floor toward her.

"You aren't going to impress anyone by hiding, Hermione. You have to fight!" he shouted. His voice was followed by a red burst of light that caused something to her left to be thrown violently back several feet.

She raised her wand over her head and threw an Impedimenta at where she thought Draco would be. She heard him laugh.

"Impedimenta, Hermione? Really? Are you trying to let me win?"

Hermione felt her skin begin to warm, and then suddenly the air around her was roasting as if fire were surrounding her. She dove away from her hiding spot and as soon as she landed simultaneously jumped to her feet while creating a shield around herself. Just in time, as she watched three successive blue lights pummel it. Her breathing was heavy and her blood pulsed loudly in her ears.

"There you are," Draco said, and she could hear a smile in his voice. He was bloody enjoying this. It only made her angrier.

She threw several consecutive stinging hexes his way, watching as he dodged or misdirected each one.

"You think the Dark Lord is going to let you stick around if all you can do is a simple stinging hex? Come on, Hermione, this is child's play."

She watched him send several unknown spells her way, only just avoiding the last one. He was using an entirely non-verbal arsenal now, the bastard.

_Two can play that game,_ Hermione thought, as she sent several jets of light toward him, all of which he dodged again.

Hermione felt a sharp pain on her upper left arm and looked down to see it begin to bleed. She quickly sent another, stronger, stinging hex his way.

Nothing was landing!

Hermione shot spell after spell at Draco, each one he either dodged or deflected and then sent right back her way. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take, her breath was already burning in her lungs. They continued their use of non-verbal spells, trying to catch the other by surprise. The two continued sending curses across the room at each other, and Hermione found she was breathing heavily, just trying to hold her ground.

The next spell hit her directly in the middle and sent her flying backwards into the wall. She hit hard and the breath was knocked out of her.

"You can do better than this, Hermione! Come on!" he shouted.

Hermione stood up, determined. She aimed her wand and fired back with everything she had, watching as curse after curse missed. She would not lose this one, though. Her adrenaline was pumping, her fear for Finn and for the Order members he was off to fight was nearly bubbling over, and all she could do was this. The only thing she had control over was this moment. So she kept it up, her wand sending red, blue, purple and white jets of light at Draco. He continued to fire back, mostly missing as she dodged spell after spell. She was surprised when she was sure a spell had hit her but didn't seem to have any negative effect, so she kept shooting back at him. The spells she used were the same, but suddenly something seemed to click for her. She felt like her core was expanding inside of her, blooming her magic outward until she was sure it was seeping out her fingers and toes. It felt _good_. As if she'd been breathing on top of a mountain all her life and was now experiencing oxygen at sea level. As if she was finally using everything she had. It was a power she had not experienced before. She felt stronger—a renewed energy spiked inside of her body. Hermione aimed her wand, sending another spell directly at her opponent, watching as it shot straight toward him.

And hit.

Draco was blasted backwards, his shield breaking and his body slamming into the crates behind him.

Hermione stalked toward him, breathless but victorious. She could feel the magic pulsing beneath her skin.

Draco was on his feet, sending another curse her way, but she was prepared for that and easily shielded herself, the spell rebounding somewhere to her left. The two continued their heated duel, only now it was different. Hermione felt different. The curses were coming easier—as if she'd been reading from a book earlier but now they were memorised. She knew without a doubt that they were coming out stronger, as well. The fight seemed even now, neither had the upper hand.

She aimed her wand and fired again and again. Hermione sent several successive spells his way, one right after the other, and when Draco suddenly moved his hands to cover his ears, she realised she'd finally hit her target. He was unprepared for her advance and Hermione knew she had won.

"Levicorpus," she said, releasing the prior spell and hanging a finally defeated Draco by his feet. Hermione felt high. She could hear the blood pumping through her body, her heart pounding. The victory was absolutely intoxicating. She was still breathing heavily when she saw Draco slowly let a victorious smile spread across his face.

"Explain," she said, panting. He was still upside down so she tilted her head slightly. "I won, why are _you_ smiling?"

"You did it," he said, smirking.

That damn smirk was going to be the death of her. The triumph she felt quickly transformed into butterflies and something more as she watched him.

"Won? Obviously," she replied smugly, letting him down and watching as he righted himself, trying not to let her mind wander. This was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about that kiss they had almost had earlier. _Damn Finn for interrupting_.

"No, you let the Dark magic take over," he clarified.

"What?" She was pulled from her increasingly inappropriate thoughts. "What are you… talking… Oh," she said, realising _that_ must have been what she'd felt right before she finally started landing the spells on Draco. Confused she looked at him, watching as he walked toward her, still smirking. He stopped only a foot from her and Hermione noticed his breathing was also heavier than usual, even considering the duel. His eyes moved to her lips and she told herself to stay focused.

Her body was apparently not listening to her mind at the present moment, however.

Before she had a chance to think about it, Hermione leant forward and captured Draco's lips with her own. He eagerly kissed her back, wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her into him. Hermione kissed him deeply, aggressively. She felt him push her slightly and let him, walking backwards until she hit the wall. Draco kept one hand at her waist, the other snaking up her body to cup her face.

Hermione pulled away slightly. "You were taunting me," she accused breathlessly.

Draco smirked. "I was," he said with a smug grin before hungrily capturing her lips once more, this time pulling the bottom one through his teeth.

Hermione moaned, bringing her hands up to grab his shirt, pulling him closer. It wasn't enough and she felt a sense of loss when he pulled away from her to speak again.

"It worked," he said, grinning.

"Shut up." Hermione pulled him back to her forcefully and kissed him again. It hadn't felt like this before. Not with Draco, not with anybody. Last time they had kissed it had been passionate but it had also been sad. It had been a goodbye—they both knew he was leaving and Hermione's fate had still been up in the air.

This time, though? This time it was like they were two halves of a whole, just trying to reconnect—trying to join the pieces of their body back together by pure force. Hermione knew Draco must have felt it too. How could he not?

Draco slid his hand from her face down her body, ghosting over her shoulders, the sides of her breasts, down her waist, over her hips and finally stopped once he was gripping the backs of her thighs. He pulled first one leg up, and then the other so that she was wrapping them around his waist and he was supporting her weight with the wall behind her. Hermione leant her head back giving him access to her neck. He immediately trailed kisses down her jaw and to her throat, sucking and laving the skin there, giving her chills as he did so.

When Draco's hand tangled in her curls and pulled her face back to his own, Hermione moaned his name before their lips met again. She gripped his shirt, roughly pulling him even closer, wanting more. Needing more.

He continued to kiss her hotly, snogging her almost to the point of oblivion. She could think of nothing but what he was doing to her; how he was making her feel. With their bodies pressed tightly together Hermione could feel his straining erection against her core. She moved her hips slightly and they both groaned at the new sensation. Draco moved his hand to grip her leg again, and Hermione held tightly around his neck as he quickly moved them from the wall, never breaking their kiss.

She didn't even open her eyes.

Hermione felt him place her on a hard surface—a desk, she assumed—and his lips finally left hers, moving along her jawline, and down her neck where he continued to kiss and nip her over sensitive skin. She let her head fall back as his hands, no longer needing to hold her up, roamed freely down her body, caressing and exploring every inch of her they could reach.

Sliding her own hands down to his chest she began pulling the buttons through the holes in his shirt until she was able to peel it off his body completely, pushing it down his arms and letting it fall to the floor. She finally opened her eyes as she spread her palms over his bare chest, marvelling at the muscle hidden there. They were both breathing heavily as she explored the expanse of bare skin. Her senses felt both dulled and heightened at the same time; her blood was buzzing with a need for him. Draco leant forward, pressing his forehead against hers as he tried to catch his breath. They made eye contact for a brief moment, which only seemed to bring them both over the edge again—Draco kissed her with a renewed passion, only breaking briefly to pull her shirt over her head. He captured her lips and brought his hands up to cup her breasts, roughly stroking her nipples through the fabric of her bra.

Hermione was unable to hold back her cries when he pulled aside one of the cups and pinched her nipple between his fingers. She wrapped her legs around his torso again, pulling him closer to her still, feeling his hardness against her once more. She felt him press himself into her and eagerly met his movements with her own, delighting in the sensation. Hermione heard herself breathlessly moan, "Please Draco," as if she weren't the one saying it, and ground herself into him again, raking her nails up the bare skin of his back.

He groaned and squeezed her breast, eliciting another, louder moan from her. He wasn't being gentle at all but Hermione found it only made her want him all the more. "Draco," she said again, as he brought his head down, taking one of her nipples in his mouth. Hermione had her hands in his hair, tugging, as he licked and sucked her expertly, pulling her nipple through his teeth before giving the same attention to the other. She threw her head back and let the feelings overtake her. Everything felt so good, so right. She pulled his face back to meet her own and continued kissing him, their teeth and tongues clashing in their desperation.

Hermione felt Draco slide his hands down her sides and across her middle until he was rubbing her centre over her clothes. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

"Draco, yes," she said, moving her own hands to find his hardness through his trousers. It was only a minute before Draco was unhooking her legs from around his middle, sliding her pants and knickers under her arse and throwing them to the floor. Hermione eagerly unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down as well. She wrapped her hand around his length and began stroking him just moments before she felt a finger slip into her. She gasped, slowing her motions only momentarily. He was sliding a second finger in when she began rubbing his cock again.

"You're so wet," he whispered.

Lost in the feeling, she barely heard him say her name. When she looked up into his eyes, his lids were hooded and his expression so full of lust that Hermione mewled, needing more. He said her name again and she knew he was asking her permission. She nodded her head fervently and lined him up with her soaking centre before moving her hands to cup his neck. He held eye contact with her another second longer, and then she was gasping as he pushed his length into her.

He didn't wait before he started roughly moving against her, sliding in and out in a frenzy of movement. Hermione eagerly met him thrust for thrust as best she could from her position, losing herself in the moment. She clawed his back again and smiled in satisfaction when she heard him groan. He kissed her urgently, trailing his lips across her jaw and to her ear, where he nibbled at her lobe, causing her to shudder. All the while he kept one hand at her breast, twisting and pinching her nipple, the other hand holding her arse steady on the desk.

"Draco, please!" Hermione whimpered when she knew she was close. "More!"

He began thrusting even harder into her, and she could hear the desk banging against the wall loudly, but she did not care. All she could focus on in that moment was the feel of him inside of her, the fullness she felt when he thrust into her and the loss when he pulled back, his hand on her breast, the bruising kiss that felt like it was giving her life for the first time in a long time.

Hermione came hard as he continued to pound into her, screaming his name as she did. Her body shuddered as she climaxed and she felt Draco thrust twice more before joining her in the oblivion.

As his movements slowed and finally stopped, Hermione found herself panting for air, her whole body shaking as she slowly came down from the high. Draco leant in again and kissed her much more gently than he had before, bringing both hands up to cup her face. They remained like that for several moments, neither speaking or moving as they caught their breath.

It wasn't until Draco pulled his face slightly away to look at her that Hermione realised how far they'd really gone.

She'd just had sex with Draco Malfoy.


	39. Talk To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** Hello beautiful souls! Another chapter for you! I cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate your loving words and comments! And I am SO glad y'all liked last chapter so much. Long time coming, no? LOL.
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

**CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

**Talk To Me**

"Hermione, wait! Can we at least talk about this?"

Draco was still doing up the buttons of his shirt as Hermione, already fully dressed, quickly made her way into the hallway. When she heard the door being slammed shut she broke into a run.

Whatever just happened, she wasn't ready to face it.

What had she even done? Hermione had never once acted on impulse like that, especially with sex! Letting him snog her senseless was one thing, but they had gone all the way! And on a desk!

She could hear his pounding feet catching up with her down the hallway as she ran back toward Finn's room. Even with all the running she'd been doing, Draco's legs were much longer than hers. A few more paces and he caught up to her, gently grabbing her arm and slowing her down.

"Hermione, wait!" he shouted as he pulled her to a stop. "Talk to me!"

She pulled herself roughly from his grasp and continued on, walking at a brisk pace, though he easily matched it.

"What do you want me to say, Draco?" she said without looking at him.

"I don't know, we can start off with why you are running away? You don't think I—I didn't… Oh fuck, I didn't force you, did I?"

That stopped her dead in her tracks as she recoiled from the thought. Hermione turned to look at him, finally seeing how concerned and upset he looked. "No! No, of course not!"

"Merlin, tell me that wasn't your first time. _Please_ don't let that have been your first time."

"It wasn't," Hermione said on the end of a sigh.

"Then why are you running from me?"

"I just—I don't know what came over me," she admitted quietly, looking at her feet.

It was silent between them for a few moments as the stood in the hallway, the weight of her admission hanging in the air.

"Finn never told you about the effects Dark Magic can have, did he?" Draco asked softly.

Hermione looked up until their eyes met, her brows furrowing in her confusion. "What do you mean, 'the effects Dark Magic can have'?" She was wracking her brain trying to figure out what he was talking about, sure that she would remember any side effects Finn could have told her.

"Fuck," he whispered, more to himself than to her. Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply. "Let's get you back to Finn's and we can talk about it."

He began walking again, heading toward Finn's room. Hermione stared after him for a few seconds before shaking her nerves away and following.

Once the door had shut behind them, Draco seemed to make himself at home in a way that told Hermione he'd spent a lot of time here. He found two tumblers and a bottle of firewhisky, pouring generous glasses and handing one to her before turning and drinking deeply from his own glass.

Hermione stared at his back for several seconds, just watching him. His shirt was rumpled and his trousers were covered in debris from their duel, but the sight of him still made her heart beat a little faster and sent butterflies to her stomach. She sipped at the firewhisky as she admired the man in front of her.

And then it all came flooding back. She had been briefly distracted by what he'd said about the effects of Dark Magic, but apparently that thirst for knowledge had settled and was now being replaced by the embarrassment and confusion of her earlier actions. A deep blush quickly rose to her cheeks as she realised that she had been the one to initiate the whole incident. Oh Merlin, what had she done? She had bloody well jumped him! Hermione sucked in a breath as she thought about what in the world she could say to him. He must have heard the sharp intake, because he turned around and faced her again.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you do that."

"What?" That certainly was not what she was expecting to hear.

"I shouldn't have—I should have had more self control, Hermione, and for that I apologise. I guess I assumed that Finn would have told you everything, and that you'd be prepared for the effects, but—"

"What are you talking about, Draco? What effects?!" She threw her arms up in exasperation, sloshing some of her drink onto the floor.

Draco groaned, finishing off the rest of his glass before he spoke. "Dark Magic is sort of it's own… Well it has a lot of peculiar properties, I suppose. I know you already know about the whole not being able to use properly it unless you mean it thing, but there are other… things, as well. It's different for someone who's grown up around it, or who has been using it for some time. We can still be affected by it, but we also have the ability to suppress the effects more easily if we want to."

He poured himself another glass and took a long drink. Hermione finished off her own drink, setting it down on the table and waiting for him to continue. He wasn't making much sense yet and it was starting to annoy her.

"You can… um, well when you're new to using Dark Magic it tends to make you—bloody hell!" He shook his head and tipped the remainder of his firewhisky back before quickly finishing his thought in a hurried whisper. "The rush of magic through your body can make you bloody horny."

Hermione's jaw dropped as she stared at Draco, who was turning a shade of red she'd never seen on him before. He looked like he was doing his best to ignore any reaction she was having by pouring another glass for himself, reaching over to refill hers as well.

She continued to stare at him but reached out to take her glass once more, only planning to take a sip, but ending up drinking the entire thing in one go in an effort to settle the growing discomfort in her stomach.

"Dark Magic made me do it?" She knew she sounded pissed off. She bloody was pissed off! She was pissed at Finn for leaving this apparently huge, gaping hole in her knowledge of how things work, and she was mad at herself for letting that happen!

"Sort of." Draco shrugged and pulled out the chair, sitting down and sighing again.

There was a lot of sighing going on tonight.  
Hermione watched him for a few seconds before deciding to sit down as well. It's not like she could go anywhere anyway, she might as well get comfortable while she got to the bottom of this.

It really wasn't the fact that they had sex. Although it was fast, nothing in her life was the same anymore and she couldn't expect herself to stay on the same track that she had been on previously. She had to be a different person now.

No, what was bothering her is that she didn't exactly consciously make the decision. It hadn't been forced by any means. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself— _hell, she'd bloody started it_ —but it just felt like she had completely lacked her inhibitions. She hadn't been hung up by her morality or her own sense of right and wrong. She had just done what felt good at the time. And that was so beyond her typical behaviour that it scared her. She didn't do things like that.

She was pulled out of her internal assessment when Draco spoke again.

"It's hard to explain properly. The surge of Dark Magic through your system… it's almost like, well, like alcohol, I suppose," he said, holding up his glass and watching the contents as he swirled it around. "It eases doubts, hesitance, second thoughts. Liberating, maybe? Makes you feel freer? Unrestricted?"

"Makes you think having sex on a desk, in a room where anyone could walk in at any moment is a grand idea," she said dryly.

Rather than answering, Draco raised his glass in a mock toast and downed it. He was clearly uncomfortable, too. Good. At least she wasn't the only one.

"So are you telling me every time you all go out on missions you have, what, an orgy after?"

Draco laughed, shaking his head. "No!" he said still chuckling. "No. Once you get used to the feeling it's much easier to control yourself. I'm not saying that they all _do_ control themselves, because many, maybe even most, of the Death Eaters do come back from missions and shag. But not because they can't help themselves. It can be nice to let yourself go like that sometimes. To not care. Does that make sense? I feel like I'm not explaining it very well."

"You're not," she admitted.

"Just think about it like alcohol, Granger." He raised his eyebrows and pointed to her glass. "I'm guessing you are familiar with that feeling now." He waited until she nodded slightly to continue. "When you're drunk some things just seem like better ideas than when you're sober. And you have an easier time acting on those ideas. But if you really didn't want to do something, you wouldn't do it, would you?"

Hermione shook her head, feeling like she was starting to understand what he was saying.

"So, for example," he spread his hands out, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders. "If neither of us had wanted to… do that, then we wouldn't have. The magic didn't make us have sex. It just made the opportunity seem… more accessible? It took away the hesitation."

Hermione thought about that. It made sense. It's not like she hadn't thought about him in that way, she knew she was attracted to him, and after that first kiss… well she would be lying if she said she hadn't imagined what it would be like with him. And what he was saying made sense, it really did. But how did she get to that point?

"I haven't ever used Dark Magic like that before." She looked at him and shook her head slightly in her confusion. "How did I suddenly break through that wall and actually use it? Finn has been working with me for weeks and we've never got that far."

Draco immediately looked down into his cup and Hermione watched him take a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. She waited.

"I may have tried that Imperius we were talking about."

"What? You what!?" she shouted, standing from the table and glaring at him, her hand hovering over the wand at her hip.

To his credit, he didn't react to her threatening stance. He merely shrugged and continued sipping his drink.

"Draco Malfoy you cannot just go around Imperiusing people!" she chastised.

He pointed his thumb at his chest and smirked. "Death Eater."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You're an arse, Malfoy."

"Never claimed I wasn't, love. It worked, though. Which means that spell you're working on should work, too. Did you feel like you were just losing control and going to off me during the due? Did you think you were going to kill me?"

"What? No, of course not," she said, taken aback. She paused, thinking about it for a second before backing up and roughly sitting back in the chair. "I felt more in control of my magic than maybe I ever have before," she said, realising he was bloody right.

"Then it stands to reason that you will feel the same way under the other spell. All I did was make it so you were open to Dark Magic, not afraid of it. You aren't just going to go around making bad decisions, killing your friends, and losing yourself completely." Draco stood from the table.

Hermione watched as he walked over to her and stopped when they were toe to toe. She looked up at him and he smiled.

"I'm going to go to my room, shower, and then go to sleep. If they aren't back in the morning, I'll come pick you up for breakfast?"

She nodded, having briefly forgotten about her worry for Finn and the Order members he was off to fight. It was now back in full force.

Draco leant down and placed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. "Don't worry, they will be fine," he said, answering her unsaid thought before turning and walking out of the room, leaving her more alone than she'd been since getting out of the cell. Maybe even more alone than that, since there had always been a guard posted.

Hermione sat in the chair and stared at the wall for a long time. She was somehow thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. It wasn't until she felt a chill creep through her that she stood and mechanically walked to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

She chose one of Finn's t-shirts rather than her own pyjamas, rolling her eyes when it fell well past her middle thigh. She felt like a dwarf compared to him sometimes.

Climbing into the bed, Hermione scooted to the middle of the mattress, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She hadn't really slept alone since she'd begun living with Finn, and she found it a bit unnerving to be without him now.

Hermione groaned as she went over the conversation she'd had with Draco. She was a little peeved at Finn for not telling her that would happen, but knew that if he had, she likely would have been even more hesitant to let the Dark Magic take over. Finn probably had assumed the same thing, and didn't want any more hurdles in her way than there already were. Damn him. She would have liked to have been prepared for that reaction, though, as she had basically assaulted Draco—luckily he had been on the same page.

Her thoughts wandered to that scene, replaying it in her mind. His hands hiking her thighs up around his middle, his mouth on hers, on her neck, her breasts…

"Ugh!" Hermione groaned and rolled over pushing the evening from her mind. She couldn't get lost in that right now, she had bigger things to think about. Like how she was going to handle Dark Magic if it just made her bloody want to shag everyone any time she used it!

Draco had said, though, that she should be able to _not_ give in to the temptations. Reading between the lines, he had basically said that the only reason they had both been so… uninhibited, was because they both already wanted it.

Which was true. At least on her end.

Hermione smiled as she thought that. She'd known that there was something between them even when they had still been at Hogwarts. Then all summer, with their messages, and when she'd been brought to the manor; their first kiss, down in those cells, she'd known there had to be something more to that, but she hadn't really let herself consider it, because in what world could she ever really have anything with _Draco_ _Malfoy_.

And then her breath caught.

Because she _could_ have something with him. In _this_ world. In her new world, where she had to become a Death Eater and do the Dark Lord's bidding… and eventually marry someone—carry their child.

_Oh shit._

 

Hermione had been so determined to not be forced into marrying someone like Yaxley, or Dolohov, or Merlin forbid Quincy Nott, that she hadn't put much, if any, thought to who she _would_ marry, if she got the choice. And now, well, now it seemed like maybe if it came down to it, and she _had_ to go through with binding herself to someone, then maybe Draco would be her best choice. Even if things didn't work out romantically, they were friends. They were _friends_ , and she would at least be safe with him. At least her child would be safe.

As safe as could be, she supposed.

It was worth consideration, at least. It would be unfair to Draco, to be sure, but maybe he would do it, to save her from someone worse? Finn was another option, but after everything he'd already done for her, she couldn't ask that of him too.

Hermione's thoughts continued to wander in circles around what Draco had told her, the spell she really needed to be working on, and the marriage issue, for what seemed like a long time. She pushed hard against the memory of her tryst with Draco any time it threatened to pop up. Frustrated and unable to sleep, she got out of the bed and walked over to the table, pouring another drink and grimacing when it tasted horrible mixed with her freshly brushed teeth.

She sat down at the table and pulled out her necklace, rubbing it between her fingers as she considered her next move. She knew that trying to sleep was pointless. The worry for Finn and the Order members was too close to the surface to let her relax. Then there was Draco. Merlin, what was she going to do about him? Hermione groaned at herself as she quickly sent a message to him before she could change her mind.

_"Hi."_

Finn had been letting her keep her wand lately, so she pulled it out and flicked on the lights in the room. He had warned her that the Dark Lord had set up securities to keep her from leaving the premise but as long as she stayed within the boundaries and let him carry it when they left the room, she could keep it when in here. He didn't go into detail about what those securities were, but Hermione knew better than to test them out.

It was less than two minutes before her necklace was warming up, showing the message from Draco.

_"Hi. Why are you awake?"_

"Can't sleep. You?"

" _Same. Want company?"_

Hermione didn't let herself think about the possible consequences or repercussions, she just replied.

_"Yes, please"_


	40. Touchy Touchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Alright lovelies, another update! I cannot believe how many people are loving this story and I am so thrilled by your comments and excitement over it! Thank you all so so much! I feel like I can solidly say we are somewhere around the middle of this story, LOL! I really have no idea how long it's going to be! We are near a turning point for our favourite girl though—she can't stay in the midst of Death Eaters much longer without taking the mark herself :o  
>  Xoxo, L

 

**CHAPTER FORTY**

**Touchy Touchy**

Hermione groggily rubbed her face, squinting toward the sound that had so annoyingly woken her up, which was coming from the side of the bed.

"Good morning, doll. You look like you had a good night."

"Finn!" Hermione scrambled over the crumpled sheets and threw her arms around the man standing at the edge of the bed.

He grunted but caught her and wrapped his arms around her as well, patting down her bushy hair when it threatened to suffocate him. "Miss me?" he asked as she finally let him go.

"I was worried about you! What happened?" The elation that Finn had come back apparently unharmed was quickly overshadowed by a fear for the Order members he had gone up against.

"They were prepared for us," he said solemnly.

Hermione finally took a good look at Finn and noticed that he was not, in fact, unharmed. There were large bruises forming on his arms, and one on his neck, and he looked like he felt bloody awful.

"Oh my God Finn, this looks awful." Hermione nimbly slid off the bed and across the room, gathering up a couple healing potions and a salve, bringing them back to Finn, and setting them down before gently pushing him to sit back on the bed. She gingerly pulled his shirt off, revealing several more painful looking bruises creeping their way up his torso. "Oh, Finn, what happened?"

He sighed and shrugged. "We failed. The Dark Lord doesn't do well with failure, so we were punished. It's really nothing, Hermione. I've had worse."

Hermione sighed deeply and held back her tears. It wouldn't do any good to cry right now. This was something she should get used to seeing anyway, as it was entirely likely that if—no, when. That _when_ she became a Death Eater, she would see and experience this sort of punishment. Shuddering at the realisation that she would have to endure her own punishment—more torture—in the future, Hermione pushed all thoughts of that future from her mind and focused on Finn again. She tended his wounds in silence, making him drink the potions, rubbing the salve on his bruises, and healing the many scrapes and cuts he had sustained.

When she finished she vanished the remaining salve from her palms and looked at Finn. "There, it's not perfect, but you should heal up much quicker."

"Thanks, doll." Finn settled himself on the bed, adjusting the pillows behind his back so he was propped upright. "So, how was your night?" he asked with a devious smirk.  
Hermione glared at him and then looked around, suddenly realising that she and Finn were quite alone in the room. She had not been alone when she'd fallen asleep. Draco had been here with her. So where the bloody hell was he now?

"What do you know, Thorfinn?" she said, narrowing her eyes. She was not in the mood for his games. It had been a rough twenty-four hours and she just didn't want to deal with his antics.

"Surprisingly, not much. Draco wanted me to tell you he's fine. He had to meet us in the ballroom when we arrived but he hadn't wanted to wake you." He paused, obviously trying to look smug about whatever it was he thought he know. "So, he stayed the night here? Should I be changing the sheets, or—"

"Finn!" Hermione gasped at smacked him on the leg, as that was all she could properly reach from where she was sitting. "You are a pervert!"

He shrugged and smiled but didn't say anything, clearly waiting for her to explain.

"The sheets are fine," she said under her breath, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

"I'm actually a little disappointed, Hermione. I really thought you would use the time alone to your advantage. I _told_ you to do more than just snog. What did you do all night, read books?" He laughed and then winked at her. She just shook her head.

"No, we did _not_ read books," she said mockingly. "We duelled."

"And how did that go?"

Hermione paused a moment before answering. She took several deep breaths, feeling her anger surfacing.

"Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me about the effects Dark Magic could have? Thorfinn, why in Merlin's name didn't you warn me?!" Hermione had raised her voice, and she felt a little smug when he startled from her volume and looked genuinely taken aback for a moment.

"I—you weren't there yet, I didn't want to worry you with it and have that fear be one more thing causing you to hold back," he said slowly. "You… you did it? You got through the barrier and successfully used your Dark Magic?"

"Yes, I fucking did it, Finn! And then I went and bloody shagged Draco on a desk in the training room without a second thought! Fucking hell, why didn't you TELL ME?!" She was shouting at him now. She hadn't had a chance to really process everything yet, and she knew she was irrationally exploding her feelings onto him, but she didn't care. They have been working at this for weeks, he should have told her!

Finn's eyes were wide and he sat up abruptly. "You… what? Malfoy didn't—I'm going to kill him!" He started to swing his legs off the bed and Hermione realised he meant to make good on that threat right away.

"No, Finn, what are you doing? Sit down," she said trying to push his leg back onto the bed. When that didn't seem to be stopping him she stood up, blocking his way to the door.

"Move, Hermione. He should _not_ have taken advantage of you like that!" he growled.

"Thorfinn Rowle you brute, STOP!" she yelled, putting both her hands up and pushing him in the chest a little. "Stop right now and listen to me! He did not take advantage of me. _I_ jumped _him,_ ok? It was absolutely mutual, I just… I wish I would have known to expect that kind of reaction, alright? And I'm bloody pissed at you that you didn't warn me!" Hermione was breathing heavily, her arms still on Finn's chest.

He looked down at her and took a deep breath. Hermione could tell he was processing what she said and calming down a little.

"Shit Finn, what were you going to do, go beat him up?" she said, laughing lightly.

"Bloody right I was!" Finn moved back to the bed and sat down, patting the spot next to him for Hermione to join. "You need to start from the beginning, doll."

Hermione sat down and explained the whole night from after he had left them. When she was finished, Finn sighed and stood, walking to the table and bringing back two glasses of firewhisky. He handed one to her, and drank his own down eagerly.

"Finn, it's like—wait, what time is it?" She had been about to chastise him for drinking so early, but realised she didn't even know how early it really was.

"It's half six," he said, chuckling.

"Oh good grief," she groaned. "You are absolutely terrible for my standards, Finn." Hermione shook her head at him but drank her whiskey all the same. It really was becoming her beverage of choice.

"So you two really just _chatted_ all night long after that?"

Hermione laughed at the way he said 'chatted', like it was some dirty word. "Yes, Finn. Two people can do that you know, just talk. I'm not sure if you're aware, but we really don't get to see each other that often, what with one of us being a Death Eater who is still in school and the other being a prisoner and all. Plus, he brought me a message from the Order."

She frowned, remembering when Draco had hesitantly brought up the Order that night. He'd essentially told her what she'd already figured out on her own—that the Order couldn't do anything for her now. At least not at this time. It would be far too risky for them to send in members to try and rescue her, especially with no guarantee of her retrieval, or their survival, even with help from the inside. Voldemort had placed wards and securities specific to her on the property. Draco had apologised profusely to her, but really he had no reason. It wasn't anything to do with him, and she was a smart witch. She knew that one Order member wasn't worth all the lives it would take to rescue her.

"You know, most prisoners don't get all the booze they can drink and comfy beds and glorious giant showers, not to mention spending their time with the most handsome and desirable bloke in this whole outfit." He winked at her before his features slowly morphed into a look of pity, which bothered her more than she cared to admit. "What did the Order have to say?"

"Nothing I didn't know already," she sighed. "And even if I do have special privileges, I'm still stuck here," she said, shaking her head but smiling.

Finn was quiet for a moment before looking at her and speaking softly. "I am sorry I didn't tell you, Hermione. I really didn't think you were there yet."

Hermione sighed. "It's alright," she said. "Honestly, I don't think I _was_ there. Not really. Draco, uhm… well he decided to try a similar spell to the one we are figuring out, and, well, I guess it worked."

Finn narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, a similar spell? There isn't a similar spell, I would have thought of it by now."

Hermione hesitated. She knew what Draco had done—essentially just a kick in the right direction. But after Finn's reaction earlier, she was a little worried how he would take this. So she shrugged, trying to play it off as casually as possible and said, "He may have Imperiused me."

"What?!" Finn. growled, sitting up. "He _Imperiused_ you and then had sex with you!?"

"Finn, it wasn't like that! Calm down, will you?"

"I'm going to kill him," he said, shaking his head and moving like he was ready to get up.

Hermione put her hands on his chest, pushing him back down. "Really, Finn, just listen! You are so bloody over protective! Weren't you the one who was scolding me just a few minutes ago for not having a shag on the bed last night?"

"That's different! Consenting is bloody well different than being Imperiused, Hermione!"

"The only thing he Imperiused me to do was to be open to the Dark Magic, Finn. Calm down. It was me who _literally_ jumped him, snogging him like a damn floozy! He was just along for the ride." She was getting a little fed up with his over the top reactions. Honestly, it's not like he was her father.

"It bloody sounds like he took advantage of you."

"Well, he didn't. It was the best bloody shag of my life," she said, exasperated.

Finn raised his eyebrows and Hermione immediately realised that she'd said that outloud, not just in her head. "Oh, bugger," she said, biting her lip and turning what she knew had to be an intense shade of red.  
"Hermione Granger, who have you been shagging?" Finn asked, a huge smirk on his face.

"Not that it's any of your business, Finn, but I've had sex before," she said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

"Sensitive topic?" he replied, laughing.

"Can we just move on, please?"

"So it was bad, then. The bloke before?"

"It wasn't bad! All I said was that this was better." She was getting frustrated. This wasn't supposed to be a conversation about her past experiences. She knew how Finn would react to _that,_ and it wasn't something she wanted to get into right now.

"Touchy, touchy," he said with a wink. "So I don't have to beat him up then?"

"No, Finn. While it was totally unexpected and out of character for me, it wasn't… unwanted." Hermione blushed again. Why was talking about this so embarrassing? It's not like it wasn't a perfectly natural part of life, or something she hadn't done before. She wasn't some virginal schoolgirl for Merlin's sake! She was a strong, confident, sex-enjoying woman! _Oh good grief, Hermione,_ she thought. _Cool it on the feminism pep talk!_ She rolled her eyes at herself and pushed it all from her mind. Sometimes she could be just a little crazy.

"So you wanted to do it, but then you spent the whole night just talking?"

"For fuck's sake, Finn! Yes! We bloody talked, ok!? We drank a lot of alcohol, talked until it was the next fucking day, and he held me while we went to sleep, ok? Why is that so hard to understand!?"

"Calm your tits, lady," Finn said, laughing at her reaction. "Alright, you talked. Got it."

"Good," she huffed, ignoring his awful phrase. "So, breakfast?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, Draco asked me to inform you that Narcissa has requested you to join them for breakfast today. He is going to stop by to pick you up."

Hermione's stomach plummeted. "What? When?"

"Seven o'clock," he said, chuckling at her reaction.

"Finn! That's like, twenty minutes from now!"

"I'd guess more like fifteen."

"Ugh!" Hermione jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes was cutting it close to be Narcissa-ready.

She was rinsing shampoo out of her hair when it occurred to her that she was about to have breakfast with the incredibly perceptive mother of the man she had shagged on a desk less than twelve hours ago.

_Oh, shite._

xXxXxXx

"I am so glad you could join us this morning, Hermione." Narcissa smiled at warmly her from across the table.

"It was kind of you to invite me," Hermione replied quietly. She really should have found a Sober-up before she left, but she'd been so nervous about getting ready on time that she hadn't thought of it until it was too late.

"Draco darling, how is school going? You hardly ever owl me." Her voice was sweet as honey, but it was obvious she was lightly chastising him.

"It's fine, mother. This year is boring, almost," he said, looking at Hermione and winking so that only she could see. "It seems as though the professors have taught us all they intend to and are going easy in an effort to let us study for our N.E.W.T 's."

Hermione frowned as he spoke. She should be finishing her last year of school this year, taking the N.E.W.T exams and passing them with flying colours. Instead, she'd been on the run, captured, tortured, and now held prisoner and forced to declare fealty to a mad man. The word _unfair_ hardly scratched the surface.

"I hope you are using that time wisely, son," Narcissa said, raising her eyebrows as if she were challenging him to admit he wasn't.

"Of course I am, mother. _I'm_ not the one who insisted I take a break from school in order to deliver you books that you could easily have had owled here," Draco replied, his tone playful.

Hermione hid her smile with a sip of her pumpkin juice. Their relationship was surprising but endearing.

"Can you really blame me? I missed my only son," Narcissa said with a delicate shrug. "Besides, I don't believe I am the only one to benefit from your visit. I assume you two were able to spend some time together yesterday, as I only saw Draco for a moment before he disappeared for the night," Narcissa said pointedly, looking directly at Hermione.

A light blush rose to her cheeks, but before Hermione had to think of something to respond with, Draco spoke. "We were, actually. I was able to catch up with Finn over drinks before they had to leave on the mission, and then Hermione and I spent a good deal of time destroying the training room. She is quite good."

Hermione's blush only deepened when she felt Draco squeeze her thigh gently.

Narcissa scoffed and patted her face with her napkin. "That boy goes through Firewhisky like it's water."

Hermione laughed, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. "He really does, doesn't he?"

She was met with a teasing smile from Narcissa. "As long as he isn't rubbing his habits off on you…"

"I'd just like to point out that only one person at this table is having champagne for breakfast, mother," Draco said with a chuckle. He stood then and walked to his mother's chair, leaning in and kissing her sweetly on the cheek. "I'm sorry I have to rush off this morning, mother. You know how Snape is with punctuality."

Narcissa sighed and stood. "I do," she said. "You really must owl me more often, Draco. I did not raise you to ignore your poor mother."

"I will do my best," he said, smiling as he leant in and hugged her tightly. "I am going to have to steal Hermione away from you, though. I have been informed that I did not bring enough books back."

"Well if you would have told me you were coming, I could have given you a list," Hermione said playfully, rolling her eyes. She scooted her chair out to stand and Draco was quickly there, giving her his arm.

Hermione turned to Narcissa and smiled. "Thank you for breakfast," she said, also giving the woman a hug. "I will see you this afternoon?"

"Yes. We have quite a bit to go over today," Narcissa said, very obviously looking between Draco and Hermione, making Hermione nervous about what exactly was on the lesson plan for the day.

Hermione followed Draco out of the room, but not before noting the time on the clock as they exited. Once the door was shut and he was leading her down the hallway, Hermione asked, "I thought you said you had to go back at nine?"

He turned his head and smirked at her. "I did."

"It's only five until eight," she said, thinking he must have read the clock wrong.

"I'm impressed, Hermione. You can read a clock," he teased, bringing her around another corner and into a hallway that Hermione hadn't been in yet.

"First of all, you are an arse, Draco Malfoy. Second, where are we going? This isn't the way to Finn's room."

"I take great pride in my arseness, thank you very much."

Hermione reached her free hand across to swat him in the arm, laughing in spite of herself. When they stopped in front of a door, she looked over at him questioningly but didn't say anything. He opened it and held out his arm, gesturing her through first.

When Hermione was inside the room, she instantly realised that it must be his bedroom. It was done up in extravagant silver and green, matching the Slytherin colours perfectly. There was a four poster bed, a lovely desk, a potions bench, a reading nook, and a bathroom that, from what she could tell, was even bigger than Finn's.

"Is this your room?" she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Obviously," he said, chuckling.

Hermione walked toward the bookshelves, running a finger along the spines of several titles, some she recognised and others she didn't. She smiled when she saw _Beauty and the Beast_. "Is this—"

"The same one from last year? Yes." He must have followed her across the room because he whispered directly in her ear, startling her with his proximity. She turned to face him, butterflies forming in her stomach when he put his hand on her waist. "I don't have much time; the Dark Lord has requested to see me again before I leave, but I didn't want the last time I saw you to be with my mother," he explained.

"Oh," was all she could think to say.

"I would like to kiss you now," he said, leaning in slightly. "Without the influence of Dark Magic. I know you were upset about yesterday. I want you to know that what I feel for you, whatever it is between us, it's not because of Dark Magic. It's real," he whispered, cupping her face with his hand. "Can I kiss you, Hermione?"

Not trusting her voice, Hermione nodded her head slowly, closing her eyes as he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips. It was a gentle kiss, nothing like it had been yesterday. He kissed her so sweetly that she could have cried, and it was over before she was ready. He rested his forehead against hers and stood there with her, his hand holding her waist, not saying anything, just holding her. Hermione felt more at peace in that moment than she had since Bill and Fleur's wedding, before everything went South.

When he pulled away, cold seeped in to fill the space where their bodies had been touching, and she wished so badly that they could just stay like that forever.

"I have to go," he whispered, looking her in the eyes.

"Will you come back?"

"I'm not sure. I'm going to try, every chance I get."

Hermione sighed and nodded her head. "I'm glad you came."

He smiled at her. "Me too."

Draco reached out and took her hand, turning to lead her to the door, but Hermione pulled back slightly, making him face her again.

"Draco, I know that… I realise yesterday I reacted badly, and—"

"Hermione, it's alright. You were—"

"No, let me finish," she said. "It surprised me, and worried me at first, but… I don't regret it," she finished quietly, eyes on the floor.

When she looked up, Draco was smiling at her. "Neither do I."


	41. Manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** UHHHH, Oops? I straight up forgot to post this chapter, guys! SORRY! Still love me?

 

**CHAPTER FORTY-ONE  
Manipulation**

"You're sure you can do this, Finn? I really don't want to be a mindless drone, spreading her legs for whoever comes calling," Hermione said as she stared at the parchment on the table in front of them.

"No, just for Draco, right?" he teased, dodging just in time to miss the slap she tried to land on his arm. "I'm positive," he said, chuckling at her failed attempt and nodding his head. He looked down at the parchment again. "Positive that I'm mostly positive."

"Can you bloody do it or not?" she snapped.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, witch. I can do it. We've been working on this for a week. If I can't bloody do it by now, you should just put me down."

Hermione sighed. "I'm nervous," she admitted.

"I know you are, doll. It will be fine. We already know that the theory is solid, all we have to do is get the spell right, and we're golden. I can do this, Hermione."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. It really wasn't that she didn't trust him, because she did; more than anyone else here right now. She was confident it would work, just nervous about the spell itself. Everything they had researched and the tweaks they had made meant that it should affect her exactly as the Imperius had, but it wasn't guaranteed. The original spell was obviously Dark magic—this modified version was too—and Dark magic could be unpredictable. She just wanted to retain her mind, and more than a sliver of her morality.

"Alright," she said, breathing out and opening her eyes.

Finn nodded. He gave one last look at the parchment before picking up his wand and aiming it at her.

Hermione closed her eyes again. She was trembling slightly as he began speaking. She only heard the first few words of the spell before her senses became dulled. Her body relaxed, as if all the tension she had been holding onto was washed away. She could hear a faint mumbling that must have been Finn continuing the incantation, but she couldn't make out the words. A chill ran up her body, starting at her toes and slowly spreading like a wave, moving up her legs and then edging back, only to move up again with a renewed force, leaving a tingling numbness in its wake. When it finally reached her head, Hermione had let go of everything except the feeling.

Her eyes were still closed, and while she knew she _could_ open them, she simply had no desire to. At some point she realised that the mumbling had stopped and Finn must have finished the spell, but she still didn't move. Time seemed not to matter and she wasn't sure if it had been one minute or one hour; she didn't care. The cold tingling numbness in her body was slowly replaced by a warm feeling, heating her through, making her sleepy. She absently noticed her breathing had slowed and her limbs were incredibly heavy. Her head drooped until her chin was resting on her chest, her hair falling forward and covering her face. She still did not move.

xXxXxXx

Finn watched as Hermione's head slowly fell forward. When her body began to follow he reached out just in time to catch her before her she fell out of the chair and onto the floor.

"Hermione?" He adjusted her in his arms, pushing the hair out of her face and cradling her to his chest.

"Hermione, doll, answer me," he tried again, though without much hope. He had read a few personal accounts where the woman fell into a deep sleep for several hours as the spell worked itself on them. He'd left those accounts out of the material he brought for her to research, not wanting to give her another reason to be nervous about the spell.

Finn gently laid the witch on his bed, pulling the covers over her and then sitting on the edge of the mattress. She looked so peaceful in her sleep. When she was awake it was easy to see the stress and fear she carried on her face and in her body. She was never really relaxed, even when it was just the two of them in their room, though she had come a long way from those first couple weeks.

Sighing, Finn walked to the table and picked up the parchment with the spell on it. He had been studying that parchment for days now, making sure he would be able to perform the sell correctly. A tap from his wand revealed the ink he had charmed to be invisible; the last few lines of the spell appearing as they darkened the page once more.

He had kept that from her, too.

Another tap from his wand and the parchment burst into flames, burning to ash the evidence of the spell's existence. He vanished the remains and dusted his hands together before summoning the firewhisky and pouring a generous glass. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her. Or at least that was the hope. He hadn't changed the spell, not really. He'd only made it so there was a time limit for its effectiveness. Rather than him having to reverse the spell, as they'd talked about, it would slowly dissipate over time. He knew her hope was that he would eventually reverse the spell and she could go back to resisting the Dark Magic. That she could essentially go back to how she was now. He also knew that it wouldn't work that way. His theory was that if the spell slowly waned, her body—and her mind—would get used to and thrive on using the Dark Magic. Once the spell had completely run its course, she would be so involved with the Dark Magic, so intertwined with it, that she wouldn't want to stop using it.

He had really debated on whether or not to talk this through with her, but ultimately he'd decided against it. It had already taken damn near a miracle for her to agree to the spell; telling her that its effects would be essentially irreversible would have put another heavy dose of doubt in her mind. She would be bloody pissed at him if—more likely _when_ —she found out he'd lied, but he would deal with that bludger when it flew at him. Finn hoped she would understand why he'd had to do it this way. It was in private journals he'd found in the Malfoy library that he had come across the idea of modifying the spell. Septimus Malfoy had written extensively about his use of this particular spell, only he'd used it for its intended purpose. Persuading women into marrying him.

He had used it a total of three times, documenting everything he learned. The first time had been on a woman he had apparently 'loved', though Finn doubted the man even knew what love was. She had married him and bore him a child. It seemed though, that while the spell had made her agree to be with him, performing her wifely duties, it could not make her love him. He'd written that he blamed the spell, thinking it was blocking her true emotions, and that he was sure that, once removed, she would be free to love him as he loved her.

She had died by her own hand only hours after he removed the spell.

The next time he'd used the spell, he added a caveat that would prevent her from feeling guilt over her actions while under the influence of the spell. This woman married him and though she bore him no children, she became a powerful witch, flourishing when she began to study and use Dark Magic. Unfortunately, she was eventually infected with a life threatening case of the Dragon Pox. The healers informed him that in order for her to recover, he would have to remove any lasting spells from her body. He had written of his hesitancy—apparently having grown quite fond of the witch, and worried about the effect of removing the spell and losing her. In the end the Dragon Pox was going to kill her, so he had no choice but to remove the spell. She survived the Dragon Pox, and the next journal entry was basically the bastard congratulating himself on his successful modification. While the woman had survived the removal of the spell _and_ Dragon Pox, it would seem that one could not just _quit_ using Dark Magic. Septimus' theory—which Finn knew to be correct—was that once you started to use Dark Magic regularly, you slowly built up a reserve of it in your body—your core magic was forever tainted by its use. After prolonged experience with it, your body required the expenditure of the magic in order to stay balanced. While she had not felt guilt over her actions while under the spell, once released from its influence the woman had refused to participate in any of the darker magics she had been wielding, thus creating an instability in her core, which eventually exploded. She had died instantly and Septimus spent months writing his theories and possible solutions.

When he finally felt he had perfected the spell, he took another wife, this time altering the spell to slowly dissipate over a set period of time. Septimus had chosen to let the spell expire after a year, stating that because the woman was simply there to warm his bed and provide him children, she would likely not be using Dark Magic very often. He had no plans to cultivate this woman or her magical ability. A year would give her time to slowly begin to regularly use Dark Magic, without him having to put much effort into teaching her. Being the wife of a Malfoy, she would be around Dark Magic daily—because apparently even before the Dark Lord rose to power, the Malfoy's had their hands in the Dark Arts. By then it would have built up in her system, and become an active part of her life, even without specific training.

His last journal entry on the topic was from their fifth year of marriage. The woman—Coletta—had exceeded his expectations. The spell had run its course and she had remained alive and well, flourishing in the Dark Magic. His assumption that letting her build up her use of Dark Arts and then weaning her from the spell slowly, so that she would continue using the magic as the spell weaned had been accurate. The more Dark Magic she used, the more her body grew accustomed to it. Rather than ending the spell abruptly and throwing her mind back to a time before the spell had been controlling her intentions, it gently lessened day by day. The difference would be so subtle to her that she would not notice. She had continued along, using the Dark Magic, only each day it became more and more of her choice and less of the spell influencing her. Once the spell had finally expired, she was already using the magic of her own free will, so she hadn't even noticed a change. She continued to thrive and was none the wiser that she wasn't being influenced by the spell any longer.

Finn, while disgusted with Septimus' manipulation and use of the women as test subjects, found the journals entirely helpful in figuring out how to keep Hermione safe from the effects of spell reversal.

Sighing, Finn cleared his mind of the journals and the alterations he had kept from Hermione. What's done was done. Ultimately it had all been for her safety and survival—he just hoped she would see it that way. With a flick of his wand, he turned the lights off before standing and pulling his shirt and trousers off. He crawled into bed wearing nothing but his boxers and the guilt of his deception.

xXxXxXx

Hermione slowly came into consciousness and opened her eyes. The room was dark, and a quick look to her right told her Finn was asleep beside her. It felt as though she'd had entirely too much to drink and passed out; her body was sore and her mind felt hazy. She remembered Finn starting the spell, and the numbness that spread through her body. She recalled the shift when she went from trying to identify exactly what was happening to no longer caring. Then the warmth, and… she must have passed out? That was as much as she remembered.

Groaning, Hermione stretched her limbs and quietly made her way to the bathroom. She cast a silencing charm on the door so as not to wake Finn and made her way into the shower. Taking her time to let the hot water beat down on her sore muscles, Hermione relaxed and just enjoyed the sensation.

When she had finished and dried off, she stood in front of the mirror, taking in her own reflection. She had been avoiding mirrors as much as possible since she'd been captured. The woman she saw looking back at her always seemed to remind her of her captivity—sallow skin, bags under her eyes that never seemed to leave no matter how much sleep she had, bones protruding where they shouldn't be.

Hermione let her towel fall to the floor and continued her gaze down her body. While she had put on some weight, she was still too thin. She knew she looked unhealthy and disgusting. Her ribs and hips protruded from her skin, and she had lost any sign of the curves she had developed, making her look less like a woman and more like an adolescent.

She ran her hands across her stomach and down her hips, turning to the side and assessing herself. Her scar was still prominent, snaking up her ribs, a constant reminder of her mortality. It was awful to look at, but these days she was able to ignore the imperfection, most of the time. She cupped her breasts—also shrunken from malnourishment—and sighed deeply, shaking her head at herself. Her last year at Hogwarts she had struggled with her body, stuck between accepting herself as she was, and feeling a deep need to exercise control over her life by controlling what food she allowed in her body. She had felt success when she would lose a pound, and disgust with herself if she gained. Meals had been skipped, foods had been limited, and what for? For a body like this? This was not appealing, it was disgusting.

Hermione leant down and gathered her towel around herself again. She'd had so much more to worry about since being on the run that her body issues had been pushed to the side, rarely thought about anymore.

Looking at herself now though, Hermione was determined to put the weight back on. She wanted to look in the mirror and be happy with what she saw. Obviously it would take time, but at least it was a goal to work toward. Nothing about this body was beautiful to her right now—it only served as a reminder of her trials, and she couldn't fathom that Draco would think any differently. She found herself the tiniest bit glad that Draco wasn't here right now. That he wouldn't see her like this, because surely it would be off putting.

Hermione sighed and pulled out her wand to dry her hair rather than tying it back as she usually did. It was longer than she'd realised, reaching the middle of her back. She did her best to tame its wildness, separating and defining the curls with her wand. When she had done what she could with her limited resources, she tightened her towel, resolving to ask Narcissa for some hair products and tips. That woman never had a single stray flyaway and Hermione wanted to know her tricks.

She walked into the room again, glancing at the bed where Finn still slept. She used a wand lighting charm and made her way to the closet, silently searching through the clothes there. She pulled out a black dress she had yet to wear, smiling. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt in control. She was going to succeed in this role, the only thing that had been stopping her was herself. She couldn't let her fears control her anymore. No, she had to let those go, let go of the old Hermione. She had a role to play, and Salazar be damned, she would play it to the best of her ability.

She returned to the bathroom with the dress, not bothering to shut the door this time. She slipped it on, glad she'd chosen black. The neckline was high but had cutouts across the front, displaying a modest amount of what little cleavage she had. It had short sleeves, and was fitted across the bodice, though not tight. It stopped at her knees, and while not form fitting, it did trace the line of her shape, accentuating and giving the illusion that she had more of an hourglass figure.

Looking at herself in the mirror she smiled. Yes. The first step to playing the part, was dressing the part.

xXxXxXx

When Finn began to stir, Hermione put the book she had been reading down.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said, smiling as he sat up. He looked anxious.

"How are you feeling?" he asked sliding out of bed and crossing the room to kneel in front of her chair, seeming to be checking her over. His brow furrowed when he took her in.

"I woke up feeling like I was hit by a bus, actually. But I've showered and feel much better now."

"You passed out," he said.

"I assumed as much. I remembered you starting the spell, and then it's a bit hazy. I didn't remember getting into bed so I connected the dots." She sipped from her glass. It was firewhisky, though she would have preferred tea. She hadn't wanted to wake Finn by calling the house elf, so she'd settled.

"How do you feel, though? Any different?"

"I _think_ so. I'm not entirely sure, though. I guess we will just have to wait and see. In the meantime, breakfast?"

A grin slowly spread across Finn's face. He stood and settled himself into a chair, calling for the elf and requesting breakfast. She quickly obliged, coming back with a their usuals. Hermione made the conscious effort to eat more than her usual bowl of fruit, and did not miss Finn's stare as he watched her put toast and eggs on her plate. She smiled to herself, feeling good about something for the first time in a long time.

She could do this.


	42. Girls Like It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Alright my lovelies! No forgetting to post the chapter this week! I just want to say again how much I love you all, and how awesome your reviews are! Seriously, I'm loving each and every one.
> 
> Next month marks **ONE YEAR** that I've been working on this story, WHAT? I've written a couple one-shots since then, but the bulk of my writing has been for Falling. However, in celebration of hitting my one year author mark, I'm about 90% positive that I will be posting a new story, a Ginsy that I've been working on behind the scenes. So keep your eyes out for that if you're into Ginny  & Pansy figuring out their lives over copious amounts of firewhisky.
> 
> SO much love to you all! Enjoy!
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

**CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

**Girls Like It**

"I must say, while I am quite pleased, I am also surprised. Prior to today you have not only not shown any interest, but rather a distinct _lack_ of interest. What made you change your mind?"

"Honestly? I've just never been good at this kind of stuff. Books, memorising, that's what I'm good at. Looking like a girl? Never came easily for me. So I pretended I didn't care, but… well, I seem to have a lot more time on my hands these days, and I sort of figured, why not? If anyone can make me beautiful, it's you."

Hermione watched as Narcissa set her teacup down and fixed her with an acute stare. "My dear child, whoever said that you were anything but beautiful? You just have to know how to show it."

Hermione blushed and sipped at her own tea, unaccustomed to compliments like that. She watched as Narcissa stood with a poise that seemed inhuman and crossed over to stand behind her chair. Hermione turned to look at the woman but was met with a shake of the head and a finger twirl, silently instructing her to face forward.

She felt Narcissa unclip the fastener that had been holding her hair up, and the locks fell in curls down her back. Narcissa didn't say anything for several long seconds, she simply tutted and ' _mhmm'd_ ' as she played with Hermione's hair, combing her fingers through it, tugging the curls, and Merlin knows what else. When she finally spoke, Hermione was expecting to be reprimanded for the awful state of her hair and it's unmanageability.

Instead, she heard something she'd never heard before. "You have lovely hair, Hermione."

She couldn't hold back the snort that escaped her throat and quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. She'd already been told— _several_ times—that ladies do not make such noises.

Narcissa sighed irritably. "You do. You just don't have the tools to manage it." The woman crossed back to her chair and sat down gracefully. "Lucky for you, I have years of experience and the world's best hair potions," she said with a wink. "Now, for our lesson today, I thought we would go over courting." Narcissa smiled at her almost challengingly, and Hermione did everything she could not to visibly squirm.

"I am aware of the Dark Lord's plan for you; that he believes your most valuable asset will be your womb. I do not agree with his assessment, but nonetheless, you need to know the rules."

Hermione looked around the room nervously, a habit she had picked up anytime the Dark Lord was mentioned.

Narcissa laughed. "I have already voiced this opinion to the man, no need to be nervous. I firmly believe that you will rise to the situation, Hermione. You are capable of far more than bearing children."

"I hope you're right," Hermione said softly. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about… potential suitors."

"Do not worry yourself over that, Hermione. You won't be a bride for an old man." Narcissa spoke with such confidence that Hermione couldn't help but feel comforted slightly.

"I really hope not," Hermione said quietly, sighing.

"Are you doubting me?" Narcissa asked, eyebrows raised.

Hermione looked up at the woman and swallowed. "No, no, just… stressed, I suppose."

"Child, you don't think that after all this work I've put into perfecting you, that I would let you be married off to just anyone, do you?"

"I'm not… I haven't thought—" Hermione wasn't sure the proper response to that and ended up stuttering slightly.

"Well, lucky for you, I have," Narcissa said with a smirk before nodding once and standing from the table. "Now, no better way to combat stress than with a quick duel."

Hermione's eyes bulged. She hadn't yet duelled Narcissa and nervous would be an understatement. She was bloody terrified of the woman.

"Any day now, dear." Narcissa was standing in the middle of the room, brandishing her wand and waiting impatiently.

Hermione stood up, doing her best not to wobble in her heels. She was glad she had chosen a looser dress today—it allowed her legs to move freely and she had a feeling she would be doing a lot of spell dodging in the near future.

xXxXxXx

Finn laughed loudly, watching as she stepped out of the too high heels. "So you were beaten by her then?" he asked.

"Finn, I wasn't just beaten. I was practically decimated. I _never_ want to be up against that woman in a real battle. I don't know how she's made it all these years without having to fight with the Death Eaters. I think she could easily beat most of the Order members."

Hermione sat down on the bed and gingerly rubbed her aching feet. Fighting in heels was not an easy thing to do, and the aftermath was pain. Pure pain.

Narcissa had let her think she was doing well for a while. They'd fired spells back and forth until Hermione was breathing heavily. She managed to land a stinging hex on Narcissa's arm, which is when the woman had apparently decided to take no prisoners. After that, Hermione hadn't stood a chance.

It was embarrassing to be beaten that badly.

But it also made her realise how much more work she had to do, and how much she could improve. Narcissa had smiled as Hermione lay on the floor, defeated, and simply informed her that she needed to get better at duelling in heels and that they would end every lesson from now on in this way.

Hermione had groaned as she watched Narcissa walk away, her heels echoing in the room.

"That woman is terrifying," she said to Finn as he sat down next to her, still chuckling.

"Indeed she is," he agreed.

Hermione sighed and looked at Finn. "I think she was heavily hinting that she was going to do her best to get me married to Draco."

"What do you mean, you _think_?"

"I don't know, she just said something about her not grooming me to perfection just to give me up to someone else, or something. You know the woman never says anything outright."

"Well, would that be a bad thing?" Finn asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know, Finn. I haven't really thought about it. I mean, I have, but I keep pushing the thought off. I don't know why, I've thought about every bloody other thing that's coming my way. I just don't want to be forced into marriage," she said, sounding defeated.

"Better to be forced into a marriage with someone you're already basically dating though, right?"

"I don't think we're dating, Finn."

"Ok, well then with someone you really like and happened to shag?"

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"I will stop bringing it up when I'm dead, doll," he said with a devious smirk.

After a pause, Hermione took a deep breath."I don't want him to resent having to marry me."

"Hermione, listen. I know you feel like you're some burden or something, but honestly, any bloke would be lucky to marry you. Even in an arranged marriage. And trust me, Draco is not going to be disappointed marrying you."

"You don't know that."

"Hermione, I don't even want to be married and I would be thrilled to have you as my wife. Any decent man would. Stop doubting yourself."

Hermione didn't have anything to say to that. Hearing Finn admit that he would marry her was both and comforting slightly unsettling. At least if Draco wouldn't have her she could stay with Finn. It might be awkward—especially since the point was to have babies—but she would be safe. These last few months with him proved their compatibility, if nothing other than in companionship. And she could live with marrying a good friend, couldn't she?

She must have been lost in thought for some time, because Finn eventually spoke again, the subject completely changed.

"So you have lunch with your father again today?"

"Ugh, don't say that." Hermione cringed, hating the way that sounded.

"That you have a lunch date?"

Hermione groaned even louder, leaning over and resting her head on Finn's shoulder. "That he is my father."

He shrugged, jostling her head as he did so. "It's the truth."

"Yeah, but it feels so yucky. My father is Richard Granger. Rodolphus is… ugh, I don't know what he is but saying _father_ feels so wrong."

"You better get used to it, doll." Finn cupped his arm up and patted her on the head. It was likely meant to be reassuring or comforting, but it just made Hermione feel like a dog.

"Some comfort you are," she said.

Finn chuckled but was otherwise quiet for a few minutes. The two sat in the companionable silence, and Hermione couldn't help but think about how lucky she'd been. Not that being captured by Death Eaters, brought to Voldemort's lair, being tortured and having someone attempt to kill her was lucky—but still. It could have been worse.

_What if Finn hadn't been here?_ She would likely still be locked in that dungeon cell, or worse, be living with Rodolphus. The thought made her shudder.

No, there were definitely things to be thankful for, even when it seemed all her luck had run out.

xXxXxXx

Lunch with Rodolphus— _her father—_ had gone much as she'd expected it to, for the most part. They had eaten in the garden again and Rodolphus had told her it was one of the only places Bellatrix didn't frequent. Apparently, the smell of the flowers disgusted her or something. Hermione hadn't asked questions, she'd just tucked that bit of knowledge away for later. They had discussed her lessons with Narcissa in great detail. Rodolphus seemed very interested in what the woman was teaching her and asked a lot of questions. It was definitely strange, but Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that he was genuinely interested and not just making conversation.

He was also quite curious about what exactly she spent her days doing when she wasn't with Narcissa, obviously still uncomfortable with the fact that Finn was the one she spent time with. Hermione ghosted over her visit with Draco, as she assumed the man would have heard of his brief appearance at the manor. She wasn't exactly sure why she was lying to him—he certainly wasn't in charge of her—but something told her he would make things exceedingly uncomfortable if he knew of her time with or feelings toward Draco.

She had almost thought she would walk away from the lunch not having enjoyed it, necessarily, but at least indifferent to it.

Almost.

Until Rodolphus mentioned Dolohov.

Apparently, Antonin Dolohov had approached Rodolphus asking about Hermione. He had been very forward and heavily insisted that he was interested in her once the Dark Lord had "cleared her" for marriage.

When Rodolphus said that, Hermione nearly lost her lunch. Not only was the thought of having anything to do with—let alone marriage to—the man who nearly killed her and left permanent scars on her body absolutely repulsive, but the fact that he had approached Rodolphus and essentially tried to stake claim over her _ownership_ was downright disgusting.

He had made no promises to the man, but he did tell Hermione that he thought it would be a good match and that she could do a lot worse that Dolohov. He made sure to imply that it was fantastic that a man like Dolohov would still be interested in her, knowing of her current living arrangements.

Hermione had washed down the taste bile with firewhisky.

It was while she was complaining to Finn about the Pureblood customs and how far back from modern times they were that she learned of the Dark Lords newest plan for her.  
"He wants me to _mingle_?" she said incredulously.

"Well, he didn't use that word himself, but essentially, yes. I guess your father brought it up to him, and he agrees that it would be good for you to start to get to know everyone. Let them see that you are really here to stay." Finn had his feet propped up on the table and was balancing his chair on the back two legs.

"That sounds like the worst idea ever, Finn. Why the fuck can't Rodolphus keep his big nose out of my business? First, he thinks he has any say in who I should fucking marry, and now he wants to control my social life, too? What am I going to do, just show up to dinner tonight and plop myself down at the table? 'Hey Bella, pass the peas, would you?'" Hermione said the last bit in an exaggerated voice and shook her head. "They are going to kill me. Literally."

"Ahh, well they've been given a direct order not to kill you, so there is that," Finn said with a shrug and a wink. "Plus, old Roddy just is keeping an eye out for you. He seems to be under the impression that I am keeping you for myself and that it is entirely inappropriate for us to be living together. I did try to tell him that I wasn't your type, but he was less than thrilled with that, especially when I offered to tell him who exactly _was_ your type."

"Finn you didn't!" Hermione hissed at him, her mouth falling agape.

"Nah. You know, you and your father do have some similarities. You're both pretty easy to rile up when it comes to your sexual promiscuity," he said, laughing.

"Thorfinn Rowle don't you ever say that again!" she shot, pursing her lips at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is public sex on a table no longer considered promiscuous?"

"It wasn't like that and you know it!" she was standing and shouting now, her wand pointed at him, while Finn looked more and more pleased as the seconds ticked by.

"Relax, doll. I didn't say anything! I really do just love riling you up. You look so cute when you think you're dangerous." He stood up and walked to her, pushing the tip of her wand until it was pointed at the floor. He put a hand on her shoulder and spoke again. "Once he insinuated that anything inappropriate was going on between us, I loudly asked if he thought I would defy the Dark Lord's orders so blatantly and may have said something about how _I_ always listen when given an order and is that not how he does it?" It was rather brilliant if you ask me." Finn was smiling as he finished.

She rolled her eyes at him and shook off his hand. "You better watch yourself. It seems like it runs in my family to hate you." Hermione's voice was coated in a sarcasm as she grabbed the tumbler and filled it nearly to the brim with firewhisky. She drank the majority of it down and wiped her mouth unceremoniously. "I'm going to take a shower."

xXxXxXx

Hermione had been able to push off dinner the previous evening, begging for one last night of peace and safety, but come breakfast the next morning Finn was forcing her to leave the room.

"If we don't do this Hermione, it's not just you who will be in trouble. I've been in trouble with the Dark Lord before; it's really not something I care to revisit when I can avoid it," he said as he ruffled through her clothes looking for something for her to wear.

"Oh, and being tortured and locked in a cell for weeks isn't considered trouble?" she shot back, arms crossed petulantly as she sat on the bed.

"No, actually, it's not. You were tortured by me—and you _know_ I went easy on you—and while the cell might have been unpleasant, it could absolutely be worse. Trust me." He threw a navy dress toward her and turned to rummage through her shoes. He glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw that she had not moved, even to catch the dress—which was sitting across her lap right where he'd thrown it—he pointed his wand at her and vanished her outer clothing.

"Finn! What the bloody hell!" she shrieked at him as she threw her arms around her body to cover herself. It wasn't that she was embarrassed, he'd seen her body more times than she could count at this point, but it was the fact that he had the nerve to just vanish her clothes in order to boss her around. He was being a prick. And she _really_ didn't want to go to breakfast.

Reluctantly, Hermione tugged on the dress, reaching back to zip it just as Finn approached her with a pair of heels. They were high, and pointy, and red. Very red. Hermione eyed them for a moment before taking them and tapping her wand on each, changing the colour to a nice neutral, quiet beige. She slipped them on.

"Turn around," Finn ordered her.

She rolled her eyes but did as he'd said. He seemed to be in a mood this morning and she didn't have the energy to continue to fight him.

As his fingers ran through her hair and his wand tamed her knots, turning them into gently falling curls, Hermione curiously asked, "How are you so good at doing hair?"

He chuckled, and she felt him take sections and begin to pin them back. "Have you seen my hair, witch?"

"Just because you have long hair doesn't explain why you know how to do a _woman's_ hair. Finn, you're better at curling and pinning my hair than _I_ am. Why?"

He shrugged, continuing to expertly manipulate her wild locks. "Girls like it when you play with their hair," he said, chuckling. "I've known a lot of girls, and thus, had a lot of practise."

"Please tell me this isn't one of the techniques you use to get girls into bed with you," Hermione said, groaning and scrunching her eyes together.

"You'd be surprised how many birds are into a guy who plays with their hair. Finn laughed loudly and Hermione couldn't help but join him. Something about his laugh was infectious.

"You are incorrigible, Thorfinn," she said, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, whatever it takes, right?"

"I don't know about that, actually. I've not spent much time enticing women into my bed," Hermione said, barely containing her giggles.

"Much time, our any time?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Grow up, Finn," she said with a laugh.

"That's not a flat-out denial, doll."

"None of your business, Finn." She looked over her shoulder to glare at him.

"Alright, alright, don't move or you'll mess this all up." He continued to pin back her hair before quietly adding, "We'll save the good questions for when you're drunk."

Hermione rolled her eyes again but didn't reply. Once he'd finished with her hair she smoothed the front of the dress and walked to the mirror.

She sighed deeply at her reflection. Even though she'd put on some of the weight she'd lost on the run, she still didn't fill out the dresses Narcissa had bought her.

Overall she was quite impressed, however. Finn had managed to make her look quite lovely—much more so than she would have been able to do. She knew Narcissa would approve of her attire, so with another sigh she turned and walked to Finn, nodding her head once to let him know she was ready.

He held out his hand and Hermione reluctantly forfeited her wand, which he pocketed, before offering her his arm. As they exited the room, Hermione heard the door click shut and briefly paused to look back. It was during that moment of pause that Finn took out his wand and changed her shoes back to red.

"Finn!"

"The red makes you look confident and sexy," he said, shrugging and then pulling her along down the hallway.

xXxXxXx

Hermione sat with quite possibly the straightest back she'd ever had, pretending to be eating her breakfast, although really she had just been pushing food around for a quarter hour. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, her elbows never touched the table, and she spoke only when spoken to. Finn had placed his hand on her thigh—under the table, obviously—when they'd sat down, and she was sure that was the only thing reminding her to breathe, keeping her grounded.

Breakfast was nothing like she'd expected.

Most of the Death Eaters currently residing in the Manor had made their way down for the meal, and Hermione recognised quite a few of them. Rodolphus had sat down in the open chair to her left, Dolohov had sat directly across from her, and Narcissa had taken the seat next to him, though it was clearly not her usual spot, made obvious by the astonished look that he quickly hid away when she sat down. Hermione was sure Narcissa had taken that seat in an effort to make her more comfortable which she appreciated, but it was a failed attempt.

Also at the table were Bellatrix, Rabastan, Lucius, and two others she didn't know. Narcissa, Rodolphus, and Dolohov, unfortunately, all went out of their way to include her in their conversations. Bellatrix made several snide comments wondering aloud how a Mudblood-raised girl was able to be civil at all, and one of the unknown men—whom she learned to be Nott, Sr. —ignored her completely, which was fine by her.

Dolohov was another story altogether. For the first half of the meal, he tried several times to get Hermione to sustain a conversation with him. He asked about her training and suggested that he stop by someday to help her out. He told her about where he was from, his school days—apparently, he was only a few years older than Hermione—even how he came to be a Death Eater. It was far too much like a first date—a very one-sided first date—for Hermione's liking. The man kept grinning at her and even used his foot to attempt footsie at one point. She immediately gasped and jerked back from the touch. It didn't seem to deter him at all and he continued on his monologue as if nothing had happened. It was an entirely uncomfortable affair and Hermione eventually just put her fork down, waiting for Finn to be done.

She carefully listened to the conversations happening around her, hoping to pick up on anything useful, but it was mostly just morning pleasantries and scheduling. The Dark Lord had gone to one of his other main residences in France, and was not due back for several days. Bellatrix was taking a trip to Hogwarts to have a meeting with Snape, although the details of that meeting were left unsaid. Lucius, Yaxley, and Nott Sr. had to run several errands, including a trip to Gringotts and Borgin & Burkes. If you ignored the fact that they were a group of murdering Death Eaters, it was all very normal day-planning and conversations.

Once Finn had finally finished his _third_ serving of breakfast, he scooted his chair back and stood, helping Hermione out of her own chair and giving her his arm. When she stood, all the other men at the table stood as well, giving her a nod or acknowledgement of some sort. It was all very formal and Hermione fought to act like the dainty lady she should be acting like, and not the independent woman she was. Narcissa smiled warmly at her and nodded her head slightly, and Finn escorted her from the room.

As soon as they were in the hallway, Hermione pulled her arm back and rolled her eyes. "You purebloods are so ridiculous," she said.

"You know, you can't really keep saying it like that. You're a pureblood, too. You do realise that, righrt?"

"I'm not the same and you know it," she huffed. "What in the bloody hell was going on with Dolohov? He is creepy, Finn!"

"I noticed that. He already put his name in the bid for you, unfortunately, and was apparently hoping to entice you into choosing him, " Finn said, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking disgusted. "I didn't want to tell you right away because I didn't want to freak you out. But he asked the Dark Lord a couple of days ago if he could have you when you were 'available'."

Hermione's stomach rolled at the thought. Even though her father had said as much, the fact that he had officially _requested her_ from the Dark Lord was just nauseating. Every interaction she'd had with Dolohov left her with an unsettled feeling in her gut. She would do whatever it took not to have to be bound to the man. "That cannot happen, Finn."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I won't let that happen, doll, don't worry."

They walked back to the room in silence. It was only broken when Finn closed the door behind them and grinned at her. "So, can I assume you'll want me to have breakfast brought up then?"

Hermione laughed. "Finn, have I told you lately how much I love you?" she said, relieved that she wouldn't be hungry until lunch.

xXxXxX


	43. Belonging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Happy Samhain, witches! I cannot wait to see what you make of this chapter! Sending love to all of you, I so appreciate your love and reviews for this story.  
>  xoxo, Luce

 

**CHAPTER FORTY-THREE**

**Belonging**

Hermione couldn't quite understand how the weeks began to pass so quickly. At first, just getting through an hour was a struggle. But then it got a little easier; she could get through a day, and then a week without breaking down. Now, though, an entire month could pass, and she would wonder where the time went. April was upon them, and Hermione wasn't sure if she should feel relieved that the time was passing quickly for her, or disgusted that she had stopped counting the days.

Everything was a bit monotonous, but good things could be said for the lack of variety. She was training with Finn most days, and proud to say that she had bested him on more than one occasion. She was quite used to the type of magic required of her now, and it came so much easier than it had in the beginning—she could practically cast a proper _Imperius_ in her sleep. Even though she had broken the barrier that she'd had in regards to the Dark Magic, it still took her a while to be able to use it comfortably. At first she had still been a bit hesitant to use it for more than defense. However, that changed after a serious talk from Finn following one of their lessons. He had reminded her that if she were to get really good, if she were to essentially master the use of Dark Magic, then she could easily 'miss' an Order member and 'accidentally' hit an opposing Death Eater with a stray curse. A well flung shield could potentially save an Order members life during a duel, and so on. That had been the motivation she'd needed to really put learning and mastering Dark Magic as a priority, and her efforts were paying off.

Narcissa was less likely to scold her during etiquette lessons, and more likely to simply discuss fashion, politics, or pureblood family drama that the woman was somehow always on top of, though Hermione couldn't figure out how, since she was at the manor all the time. Hermione was surprised how much she enjoyed her time with Narcissa now. It had been a chore and a hassle in the beginning, but now she found the woman endearing and more than a little inspiring. She was learning quite a few things in terms of duelling, as well. Narcissa had a certain finesse which gave her an element of surprise during duels. It was hard to expect some of the curses she sent coming from such a refined lady. Hermione was doing her very best to emulate that—any chance at an advantage was worth it. Aside from duelling, Hermione was also trying her best to match the woman's calm demeanor. Somehow Narcissa managed to keep everything together seamlessly even though her husband was often sent out on dangerous missions, her son was a marked Death Eater, and she herself was holed up living with the darkest wizard of their time and his lackeys.

Hermione's _relationship_ with her father was improving, regardless of her feelings toward the matter. She was learning about him as a person, beyond the fact that he was a Death Eater, and—much against her will—she found she might actually like the man. Not that she would trade growing up with her real father, but Rodolphus really wasn't as bad as she had originally thought. He was kind and considerate—at least to her and those he cared about—he listened attentively and answered any and all questions she had, and he even _doted_ on her. He had taken to buying her rare potions ingredients, books and scrolls that were considered unavailable to the general public, and even a few useful Dark, albeit relatively harmless, trinkets from Borgin and Burkes. One of those trinkets was a lovely emerald green bracelet that alerted the wearer if a poison was in their possession. Hermione found that especially comforting seeing as she didn't trust Bellatrix not to try and get rid of her with a poisoned meal or drink. She hadn't left her room without the bracelet on since Rodolphus had given it to her, and though she hadn't come across any poison yet, she didn't want to take any chances.

Although she wasn't anywhere near at ease in the presence of the other occupants of the manor, Hermione found herself to be growing much more comfortable around them than she was in the beginning. She now routinely held conversations and even light-hearted debates with several others during dinners or gatherings. It turned out Rabastan was well versed in ancient wizard scholars, and he and Hermione could often be found discussing theories and laws of magic over dinner. Dolohov was still a creep, but Hermione was getting used to him, as well. He was like a bad smell that just didn't go away—while it still stank, eventually you stopped noticing it as much. She would brush off his flirtation playfully but without inviting him to continue the advance, so as not to upset him. There had been a few times that he had shown up during a duel with Finn and insisted he take part in her _training_ and several times that he had come unannounced to Finn's room, requesting she join him for lunch or tea. So far, she had been able to avoid spending any real alone time with the man by inviting him into the room and offering to have everything served right there. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but she didn't know how she could decline without upsetting whatever semblance of balance she'd found.

Bellatrix was still an issue, though Hermione didn't think she was a direct threat. She wouldn't purposefully place herself alone in the same room as the woman, and actively stayed out of her way, but when others were around, she could almost ignore her presence. It was strange, but Hermione felt almost protected by the others in the manor when it came to Bellatrix. Rodolphus and Rabastan because she was their blood, Dolohov because he had a weird thing for her, even Nott Sr., who seemed to enjoy her company now, as well as Narcissa and Finn for obvious reasons.

Overall, Hermione felt almost safe, which was incredibly hard to wrap her head around. How could she feel safe in a house full of Death Eaters? In the part-time residence of the Dark Lord? A place where she had been tortured and held captive—where technically she _still_ was being held captive. It didn't make any sense, but the longer she was there, the more that feeling of safety—of belonging—grew.

At the moment, Hermione was trying very hard to control her breathing, and not let Rodolphus see how affected she was by the sheet of parchment in front of her. The man had sprung it on her during their lunch that afternoon, and while Hermione should have been expecting it—especially considering the amount of attention lately—she'd been so unprepared for it _today_ that she had choked on her earl grey, splashing it on the table and her dress. A quick cleaning charm took care of the mess, but when she looked up, she saw the slightest frown on Rodolphus' face—clearly, she had not mastered the pureblood etiquette as well as she had thought.

"That is a fairly standard proposal, Hermione. Domestic discipline is a good sign for a strong marriage. Dolohov will be requesting you at some point in the next couple of days to formally present you the contract. I would very much like it if you considered it. He is a promising choice for a husband," Rodolphus said calmly, watching as Hermione read over the betrothment contract.

_Under the acknowledgement & sanction of our sovereign, Lord Voldemort_

_The House of Dolohov formally requests of the House of Lestrange_  
~ A betrothment ~  
__**Antonin M. Dolohov and Hermione J. Lestrange**

_to be formally engaged and wed in a union bound in Magic and consecrated on Beltane_

Contract details are to be agreed upon by the Lords of each house

_A formal response is requested no later than two weeks from the presentation of the contract, giving the parties two weeks to prepare for the bonding ritual._  
A formal announcement of the presentation of the contract has been made in the presence of the Dark Lord and each eligible House.  


As her eyes scanned down the parchment, her stomach grew more and more nauseous, but it wasn't until she saw the second page that she became furious and horrified at what she saw. It was a list of _conditions_ that were to be followed in the marriage.

_**Conditions and Obligations ~** _

_Upon acceptance of betrothal,_  
 _The future Lady Wife will cease and desist any and all relations with unrelated males, sexual or otherwise,_  
forgoing intimacy of any kind until the wedding night.  


_Upon finalisation of the marriage bond,_  
The Lord of the House of Dolohov will take control of the Lady's fortune for safekeeping and management.  
The Lady will receive an allowance, subject to her Lord's discretion.  
The Lord takes it upon himself to see to her needs financially, and otherwise.  
The Lady will not be required to work outside the home.  
Her duty is to maintain a properly running House, in the eyes of her Lord.  
The Lady agrees to uphold the name of her new House by dressing and acting in an appropriate manner at all times when in the presence others. Clothing, physical appearance, and topics of discussion will follow the guidelines set by her Lord in this regard.  
Once bonded and wed, the Lady will be given one year to sustain a viable pregnancy.

_If that pregnancy does not result in a legitimate Heir for the House,_  
she will be required to sustain a second pregnancy within one year.  
If, after three years of marriage, no viable Heir is produced, the Lord may seek to produce an Heir through other means  
Any male child born of the Lord will be expected to be raised in the House of Dolohov as a true and legitimate Heir by the Lady.  
The Lady will be compliant in remitting her medical autonomy to her Lord and his chosen healer.  
Termination of pregnancy by the Lady, or the use of birth control in any form, is expressly forbidden until such time as a legitimate Heir is produced, and only with the express approval of the Lord.  
Upon acceptance of this contract, the Lady confirms sexual consent for the duration of the marriage, regardless of her words or actions thereafter. 

_The Lady will be expected to fulfil her Lord's needs and desires—regardless of time or place—in sexual congress, as to be determined by the Lord. If the Lord is unfulfilled by his Lady, he may seek fulfilment from others._  
Fidelity by the Lady will be ensured by Fidelity Charm, which will be placed on her wedding ring.  
The Lady will be submissive and obedient to her Lord in all things. 

_The marriage bond may only be broken by the Lady in the event of her Lord's death._  
The Lady will not enter into any legally binding contracts without the knowledge and consent of her Lord.  
An escort or bodyguard may be provided to the Lady, as well as a Tracking Charm placed on her wedding ring, to ensure her physical safety when her Lord cannot be present.  
The Lady consents to wand checks by her Lord, and he may require she relinquish her wand to him at any time.  
Upon acceptance of this magically binding contract, the Lady agrees to the terms and conditions stated above. Any disobeyment may be punishable at the Lord's discretion.  


Hermione placed the two pieces of parchment back together and handed them across the table to Rodolphus. She took a deep, steadying breath, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her when she spoke.

She looked him in the eye, making sure her expression was neutral. "Are you giving me a choice?"

"Yes. As was required by the Dark Lord, the presentation of this contract was announced in a formal meeting yesterday. As such, I expect to receive at least one, possibly two or three other contracts in the next week, competing for your hand. I have spoken to the Dark Lord, and he has given you permission to accept any of the contracts you receive. I will advise you, however, to thoroughly consider each contract, and not choose based solely on your current relations or feelings toward the man in question. Love can grow over time, Hermione. You have to make the best decision for the long run."

"And if I don't like any of the choices presented?"

"The Dark Lord has expressed his desire that you wed. You will do as he commands, Hermione. If you do not choose a husband of your own free will, I will be forced to choose one for you," Rodolphus said, a serious tone to his voice.

Nodding, Hermione pushed her chair out and stood. "I understand. I would appreciate a copy of the contract be sent to my room for me to further consider it, as well as copies of any other contracts offered."

Following suit, Rodolphus stood as well. "Of course. Let me walk you back," he said, setting his napkin down next to his half-finished lunch.

Hermione put her hands up and smiled. "No, please stay, finish your lunch. I have a lot to think about, and would enjoy a quiet walk back anyway—it will give me a chance to think this over a bit."

Rodolphus nodded and smiled at her, reaching out to take her hand. "I am so glad you are settling in here, Hermione. I never thought I would get to be a part of your life like this."

Hermione let a smile spread across her face and made sure not to flinch when he squeezed her hand in a gesture of comfort. "Me, too," she said quietly before turning and walking back inside, doing her best to keep an even, steady pace so as not to betray her composure.

xXxXxXx

The door slammed and she knew her hair was sparking by now. She was furious and disgusted and _horrified_ , and her temper was only a moment from boiling over. Finn glanced up from the table where he was looking over some paperwork and raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

Hermione walked right past him, heading for the firewhisky, and drinking deeply, straight from the bottle.

"Whoa there, doll, easy now," Finn said, coaxing the bottle from her grip. "What happened?"

"Fucking Dolohov," she growled, reaching for the bottle again.

He nodded in understanding and released the firewhisky, letting her continue her mission to inebriate herself.

"Yeah, I was wondering when Roddy would give that to you," he said with a sigh.

"You knew about it and didn't tell me." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Hermione knew that as an _eligible bachelor_ , he would have been present last night for the meeting.

Finn nodded apologetically. "You were asleep last night when I got back, and I had to leave early this morning. I didn't have a chance to tell you."

"What the fuck am I going to do, Finn?"

"We'll think of something," he said, reaching for the bottle and drinking as well.

xXxXxXx

Hermione sat at the table, doing her best not to let Narcissa see the worry and frustration she was feeling. She'd had nearly twenty-four hours to cool down after receiving the contract from Dolohov, yet she was still fuming. When an elf popped over to give her the copy she requested, Hermione actually shattered a vase in the room with a burst of accidental magic. The terms and conditions were even more disgusting the second time through.

Finn had waited patiently to read it after she was done, and even he said that it was a very pureblood contract, old-fashioned and awful. He'd told her _he_ would marry her before he let her accept that sort of contract.

And now Narcissa was looking at her, listening as Hermione detailed some of the terms of the contract Dolohov had sent. Narcissa kept a perfectly delicate poker face, listening as Hermione expressed her utter disbelief that the wizarding world was still using this sort of antiquated, nearly slave-style bonding contract for _marriage_.

"And Rodolphus _actually_ said that this would be a good match for me!" she finished with a huff, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Dear, ladies do not cross their arms and pout," Narcissa said, stirring another lump of sugar into her tea.

"I think the formalities and customs of life in pureblood society are easily pushed to the back burner in this case," Hermione said, rolling her eyes but uncrossing her arms nonetheless.

"Have you accepted the contract?" Narcissa asked.

"Of course not!"

"Then I don't see what the problem is."

"You don't see what—"

"Dear, you've spent our entire tea time on this rant, and while I would love to stay and continue our time, _you_ have training today," Narcissa said, smoothing her skirt as she stood.

Hermione was taken aback, but stood as well, following the woman's lead. "Are you kicking me out?"

"Today, I am." She smiled, making Hermione feel like she was missing out on something. "I have someone to meet with shortly."

Hermione furrowed her brow slightly, but nodded walked to the door.

xXxXxXx

It was raining that afternoon, but Finn had insisted they take their duelling outside, _'so she would be proficient at fighting and defending herself in any situation'._ Hermione had rolled her eyes but finally agreed, which is how she'd ended up outside, covered in mud and panting behind a large rosebush in the garden. It turned out it was an entirely different game when they were outside. First of all, the playing field was much larger. There were a lot of objects to hide behind, but she had to be careful—many of the bushes and skinnier trees only provided momentary protection because she was easily spotted in those locations. Each time she made to dart for safety she found she was entirely glad for all the running Finn insisted on, as the distance between safe locations was often quite large and she had to quickly sprint in order to not get hit.

_Damn him, but he was right._ The stupid running had been a good call. Hermione was currently on the offence—Finn had to duck behind a nearby rosebush to avoid her current barrage of spells. She wasn't letting up, sending spell after spell his way, making sure not to give him enough time to fire back. A few more well-placed hexes and she was sure she would be victorious. Hermione wiped a drop of water that was running down her brow and she could feel the grit of dirt as it smeared into mud across her forehead. She was sure she looked a wreck at the moment, covered from head to toe in the muck that she had been crawling in all morning, but she could shower after she won—as long as Narcissa didn't see her, who cared? Admittedly, it was a little fun to let go of the sophisticated and polished manner she had adopted at all times these days. She no longer minded the heels and dresses and properness of it all, but letting it go for even a moment was entirely freeing.

She was crouched with a raised wand, ready to send another spell at Finn's rosebush when she heard the squish of shoes on mud behind her. Hermione whipped around, wand raised to defend herself. Her eyes widened and she let out a gasp, immediately lowering her wand and springing forward.

"Draco!" she shrieked, flinging her arms around the blond who stood before her. He eagerly caught her in his embrace, going with her momentum and swinging them around full circle. "What are you doing he—OUCH!"

Hermione spun around and glared at Finn, who was now standing and smirking victoriously at her. "Finn, what the hell?"

"Rule number fucking one, doll. Never turn your back on a duel," he said, before adding with a smug look, "Another win for me in the books, then."

"That doesn't count and you know it, Thorfinn! Hit me again and I'll curse you in your sleep," she threatened, turning her back on the laughing man to face Draco again. "What are you doing here?"

"One, when did you become so scary? I think I like it," he said, grinning at her. "Two, I live here." Draco shrugged and gently tugged a curl that had fallen loose.

She shook her head, brushing the hair from her face. "You know what I mean."

He casually shrugged again. "I've been working with Snape the past few months to get all my classes and tests done and I've graduated early. I'm here for good now."

Hermione gaped at him. Her jaw dropped open and she was rendered speechless.

"I hope that's your 'this is a happy surprise' look, and not your 'oh no' look," Draco said.

She smacked his arm and then threw her arms around him again. "It's definitely a happy surprise! I can't believe you're going to be here!" Her voice was nearly a whisper and she couldn't help the tears that spilt over. Pulling back, she gently wiped at her eyes and looked up at him. "I got tears on your jacket," she said with an apologising smile.

"You are covered head to toe in mud, and you're worried about the tears you got on my shoulder?" He laughed, shaking his head at her.

Hermione sucked in a breath and covered her mouth. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking!"

"It's fine doll, I'm sure one ruined 50 Galleon jacket is not going to upset him." Finn winked when Hermione turned around to look at him, shock written all over her face.

She turned back to Draco. "Please tell me I did not just ruin your 50 Galleon jacket?!"

"No worries, love. This is actually my 80 Galleon jacket. My 50 Galleon one is fine," he said, laughing when she paled even further.

"Relax, Hermione. Really. It's just a jacket. Besides, I'm sure one of the elves can get the mud off."

Hermione made a face but let it go.

Draco turned to Finn. "So, can I steal her away, or should I let her finish destroying you?"

"Hey now, I was only letting her feel like she was getting the upper hand."

"You were cowering behind a bush when I walked up," Draco said, chuckling.

"Ah, well, what better way to make your opponent let their guard down than to make them think they've won? I'm sure I read that somewhere." Finn let out a laugh and began walking to the manor. "She's all yours, mate."

"I think a shower is in order before anything, really," Hermione said, gesturing to her mud-covered body.

"I think that is a good idea. My mother was slightly put out that I left her so quickly, anyway. How about an hour?"

"An hour sounds great," Hermione said, smiling.


	44. No Modesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Can I say too often how very much I love you all? Your comments and praise are the best ever, and I look forward to reading everything you have to say each time I post! Sending love to you all!  
>  Xoxo, L

 

**CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR**

**No Modesty**

 

"I will come back in an hour, then? We can do an early dinner?" Draco asked as they stood outside the door of Finn's room.

"That sounds good."

Draco leant forward kissing her chastely on the cheek, while Finn made annoying kissing sounds from the other side of the room.

Hermione turned to glare at him, and groaned. He was already shirtless and undoing his trousers. "Have you no modesty, Thorfinn?"

"None, doll. None." He winked at her over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom.

Hermione turned back to Draco and rolled her eyes. "He has problems."

Draco exhaled deeply and nodded. "An hour," he said in response, and turned, leaving her standing in the doorway.

Scrunching her face, Hermione sighed. She shut the door and stalked to the bathroom, shouting oh her way. "Finn, really?" He'd left the door open so Hermione marched right in. "Do you really have to be like that in front of him?"

"Like what, doll?"

Hermione crossed her arms as she leant on the counter in the bathroom. She averted her eyes upward, seeing as Finn's self-consciousness was non-existent. "You know _exactly_ what I am talking about! You made him so uncomfortable!"

"I can't see why," he said laughing. "He's seen me naked before." Finn's voice was a bit muffled, and Hermione saw out the corner of her eye that he was rinsing his hair, so she waited a moment to respond.

" _He_ wasn't uncomfortable seeing you, Finn. He was uncomfortable that _I_ was seeing you, you prat. How do you think he feels knowing that you are, well, _you_ , and I'm here with you, and your _youness_ all the time?"

"Don't worry, doll. We've already talked about it. He knows there isn't anything between us."

"One, I don't appreciate that you two talk about me behind my back. Two—"

Hermione didn't get to finish that sentence, as she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Was that the door?" Finn asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No."

"It's probably just Draco again," Hermione said. "I'll get it."

She left the bathroom, closing the door behind her and went to answer their door.

When she opened it, she was surprised to see a little house-elf. It was one she didn't recognise, but she smiled kindly at it. "Hello."

"Master Nott be requesting the presence of Miss Lestrange," the elf said in a gravelly voice, bowing deeply. "He be having tea with yous in the garden."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised. "Do you know why?"

The elf shook his head. "It not be's my business to be telling yous, Missy."

"Alright," she said, confused. "Can you let him know that I will be there shortly? I just have to shower."

"I be telling him, Missy." The elf bowed again before popping away.

Hermione shut the door and turned to see Finn walking out of the bathroom, one towel around his waist and another that he was using to rub his hair dry. "What was that?"

"Quincy Nott wants to see me…"

Hermione watched as Finn's face went from confusion to understanding in a split second. "What?" she asked.

Finn raised his eyebrows at her incredulously. "Quincy Nott wants to see you," he said, pointedly.

It only took her another moment before she was sighing in understanding. "Oh. Ugh," she said with a groan.

"Well, at least you have another option?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'll be in the shower. And I'm shutting the door," she shot, only to be met with laughter.

"Been there, seen that," Finn called, still laughing.

xXxXxXx

Hermione showered and dressed quickly, donning a simple blue and white dress with a cardigan and black heels. It amazed her how simple this was for her now; Narcissa really had trained her well it seemed.

She partially dried her hair with her wand, putting it up into a simple french twist. She quickly added a few touches of make up and checked her reflection in the mirror.

Satisfied, she walked to Finn, who was working on some sort of paperwork at the table. She sighed and placed her wand on the table. "How much longer do you think I will have to do this?"

He shrugged in response.

"Alright then, how is this?" She opened her arms slightly, gesturing to her outfit.

"You look fetching, doll. Perfect outfit to negotiate a deal," he said, winking at her.

"I am not negotiating, Finn. Isn't Theo seeing someone, anyway? I thought he was dating the older Greengrass girl?"

"Oh, he is. Has been for a couple years now, actually."

"Then why in Merlin's name is his father offering a marriage contract? Isn't the Greengrass family a perfectly acceptable match?"

"I would assume it has more to do with Quincy trying to please the Dark Lord than it does with him making a good match for his son."

Hermione groaned. "Will you please tell Draco that I will be back as quickly as I can?"

"Will do. Off you go, doll," he said with a smirk. "At least you have graduated from needing a chaperone everywhere."

Hermione rolled her eyes but turned and walked toward the door. "At least there's that," she agreed under her breath.

When she made her way out the back doors and into the garden, Hermione was entirely surprised to see, not Quincy Nott, but Theo, sitting at the little table.

"Theo?"

He stood at her arrival, walking over and pulling the chair for her. Taking his own seat again, he nodded at her. "Hermione, hello."

"The elf said 'Master Nott,' and I just assumed it was your father."

Theo sighed. "Understandable," he said as he poured tea into her cup. "Do you take milk or sugar?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head, not intending to drink her tea anyway. "Why are we here, Theo?"

He sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face. "I'm actually here to ask you a favour."

Hermione's brows rose. "Oh?"

"My father has presented a betrothal contract to your father," he began.

"Joy," she said under her breath, reaching for her tea in spite just to give her hands something to do in the awkward situation.

"I'm here to formally present you a copy, as is polite, and essentially beg you to refuse, Hermione."

She blinked several times in surprise. "Oh?"

"I'm not sure if you're aware, but Daphne Greengrass and I have been dating for quite some time, and—"

"It would give me an immense amount of pleasure to refuse you, Theo," Hermione said with a chuckle.

He let out a relieved sigh and smiled back at her. "Thank you."

Hermione laughed and nodded. The tension between them seemed to have dissipated once they realised they were both on the same page, at least regarding this. "Can I see the contract?" she asked, curious.

Grimacing, Theo nodded and handed over document for her to look over.

Her brows furrowed as she skimmed the parchment. "This is…"

"Yeah, it's not very favourable to the wife," Theo said, scrunching his face a bit.

She looked up from the contract at him. "No, I was going to say it's _much_ more favourable than the other one I've received."

"Oh, Merlin. Please tell me you aren't accepting that?"

"Accepting a contract that deems I essentially become a sexual slave and mindless obedient trophy wife subject to my husbands whims for the rest of my life? No. I will do everything in my power to avoid that."

Theo raised his eyebrows, shocked. "He used the _old_ contract? Salazar, no one uses that contract anymore! And I thought the one my father had drafted was bad."

"Lucky me," Hermione said dryly.

Theo chuckled and sipped his tea. "I wouldn't worry, Hermione."

"Ah, yes. Nothing to worry about," she said sarcastically.

Theo shrugged. "I'm not the only student who Floo'd in from Hogwarts this morning," he said with a smirk.

"What do you know, Theo?"

He smiled deviously. "More than you," he said. "Now, in an effort to keep up both appeasing our fathers and out of trouble, may I suggest a plan?"

Hermione sat up a little straighter, tilting her head slightly. "A plan?"

"Yes, a plan. A, shall I say, rouse, ensuring that it at least _looks_ like I am pursuing you, and you are considering me."

"What do you suggest?"

"Nothing extreme," he said. "Being seen publicly together, a couple of dates maybe."

"I think I could manage that," Hermione said, a small quirk to her lips. A plan of her own was quickly forming in her mind. Taking a sip of her tea she made up her mind—Draco trusted Theo, and so she would too.

"I would request a favour in return."

"Oh?" Theo raised his eyebrows, interested.

"You were always the top of the class in potions, Theo."

He nodded once, narrowing his eyes at her. Yes…"

"And as a Slytherin, I would assume you have taken advantage of the extra tutelage that Professor Snape offered for the N.E.W.T. course?"

"How did you know—" he trailed off questioningly.

Hermione smiled and raised her eyebrows, sipping at her tea. "You're not the only student from Hogwarts who I've spoken to."

Theo leant back in his chair, lacing his fingers and setting his hands in his lap. "Ah, yes. Alright, go on."

"I find I may be in need of a certain potion, but I don't have access to an unmonitored potions table, or the resources to research it properly."

"Research it?"

"Well, I'm unaware of a potion like this that's already in existence."

Theo raised his eyebrows. "You want me to develop a potion for you?"

"More like modify one, really."

He tilted his head and stared at her for a moment, a slow smile creeping across his face. "I'm interested."

Hermione leant toward Theo, getting as close as she could, and he mimicked her until their heads were nearly touching at the center of the table. Hermione began to whisper her plan to him, and was relieved to hear that he had some ideas already.

After discussing it briefly, she felt a slight weight lifted from her, but she was also anxious for him to get started. Hermione let herself relax back into her chair, glancing around the garden briefly, thankful that they were still alone.

"Well, I know you've got places to be," he said with a smirk, before pushing from the table and standing. "I won't take any more of your time." He offered her his arm, which she accepted.

"You Slytherins and your secrets."

"They always said you were the brightest."

"You don't have to walk me back, Theo."

"Actually, I do." He said it apologetically, but continued escorting her, only letting her arm go to open the door for her. "My father has to think I'm playing nice. You're going to break my heart by refusing my contract, don't you know?"

They both laughed and chatted amiably as they walked through the manor together.

"You're much nicer than I expected," Hermione said as they approached Finn's room.

"And you're much less of a swot than _I_ expected." He paused, releasing her arm and levelling her with a serious expression. "I will owl you for a date later this week. Thank you, Hermione. Daphne said to thank you as well."

"How did she know I would agree?"

Theo shrugged with a knowing smirk. "Just because Slytherins don't talk to other houses doesn't mean they don't talk to each other. Have a good evening, Hermione."

She watched him walk back down the hallway and around the corner before turning and opening the door to the room.

She kicked off her shoes before she'd even shut the door, and sighed deeply, throwing her cardigan on the bed. The bathroom door was open and the light on, so she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Finn, you might be closer to a wife than we thought. I was just begged to turn down a marriage contract, by _Theo_ Nott," she said as she sprawled backward onto the bed.

She immediately shot back up when the responding voice belonged, not to Finn, but to Draco, who was dressed in a fancy black suit.

"And here I was, under the impression that you two _weren't_ anything more than friends."

He was smiling, but Hermione still felt a slight panic. She stood and made a face, intending to apologise but Draco put his hands up and shook his head.

"Relax, Hermione. I'm teasing you."

Finn emerged from the bathroom, laughing. "Thanks, doll. But I have to respectfully decline your _lovely_ proposal of marriage."

"Why were you two hiding out in the bathroom?"

"I was showing Draco your immense collection of hair potions and products. Letting him know what he's getting into with you," Finn said with a chuckle as he sat down at the table.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "More than half of those are yours and you know it."

Finn shrugged. "So are you two off, then? Leaving me all alone for the night?"

"I think you'll survive, Finn." Hermione turned toward Draco. "Five minutes? I think your mother would have my head if I wore this dress to dinner," she said with a laugh. "I didn't want to give the wrong impression when I thought I was meeting Quincy."

"Ahh, using your feminine wiles in order to persuade and influence the men in your life, Narcissa really has taught you well," Finn said with a grin as he poured a glass of firewhisky for himself.

Hermione rolled her eyes but walked to her wardrobe and picked out the dress she had intended to wear before, tucking it under her arm and walking into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

She quickly dressed and began to work on her hair. Since she'd left it half dry earlier and simply put it up, it was a mess now. Luckily, Narcissa _had_ given her several hair potions and pointers, so she was able to pin it back and set it into curls rather easily.

Hermione took a step back, checking her reflection in the mirror. The dress she'd chosen was plain black, off the shoulder, tea length dress. It had a lovely scalloped cut along the top, and Narcissa had explicitly told her to save this dress for a date. Hermione had laughed at the time, asking the woman when she thought she'd be going on dates—between the society lessons and duelling? Later on, however, she realised Narcissa had probably purposefully picked out the dress—and likely half her wardrobe—based on what she knew her son liked. The woman never said it outright, of course, but she'd made plenty of hints and comments suggesting just that. It was a little unnerving to be sure, but Hermione also found it quite relieving as well. At least that was one less thing she had to worry about.

Alone, and without interruption, Hermione found she was rather nervous. She was going on a _date_ with Draco. She really hadn't been on an actual date with him since last year in Hogsmeade, and that felt like _ages_ ago. They were closer now, obviously, but it was a different beast altogether, writing to someone, and being face to face with them.

Hermione sat on the edge of the tub and pulled her stocking on. They were ones that Narcissa had picked out for her as well, with a seam all the way up the backside of them. She stood and slipped the black heels back on and smoothed the dress down, wishing she could do the same to her nerves. After another minute, she took a deep breath and walked to the door, opening it and entering the bedroom once more.

Finn and Draco were both seated at the table, Draco with his back to her. Finn smiled immediately when he looked up at her, before nodding at Draco. He stood and turned toward her.

"Wow," he said, putting his hands in his pockets. "You look lovely, Hermione."

Trying not to blush, Hermione smiled at him. "Thank you," she said.

"Alright, alright," Finn said. "Back by ten, kids."

If Hermione hadn't been looking at him, she might have missed the subtle flick of his wand, and the devious smirk he sent her way. She narrowed her eyes slightly, and followed Finn's gaze, which landed on her shoes.

Her _bright red_ shoes.

Hermione rolled her eyes and glared at Finn, who only winked and shrugged his shoulders.

Draco laughed, extending an arm to Hermione, which she took. He led her to the door before looking over his shoulder. "Don't wait up, Finn," he called, smirking and leading her out the door, the sound of Finn's laughter echoing into the hallway.


	45. Play Nice With Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** I know, I know, this is late, I'm sorry. It's been a hell of a month (or more). We are trying to buy a house, but house hunting sucks balls (in the bad way), and the muse just hasn't been hanging around for some reason. So, sorry for the delay; I hope you like it.  
>  **Xoxo, L**

**CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE**

**Play Nice With Others**

Draco led Hermione across the manor to the stairs and up two flights before he turned down a long corridor she'd never been in before. She followed quietly, her arm still linked with his and her nerves rioting.

"You really do look beautiful, Hermione," Draco said quietly.

She bit her lip trying and failing to stop the grin that was spreading across her face. "Thank you."

He slowed to a stop at one of the doors near the end of the corridor and gently let her arm go, opening the door and ushering her in.

Her breath caught at the sight before her.

The room was decorated with what looked like twinkle lights, vases of flowers spread everywhere, and an intimate table in the middle, set with plates and glasses. She couldn't help the blush that spread to her cheeks at the sight.

"Draco, this is—"

"I know it doesn't make up for being gone this whole time, Hermione, but—"

"It's okay, Draco." Hermione turned toward him, placing a hand on his forearm. "I don't blame you, and it's not like you could have done much more if you were here, anyway."

He sighed, looking away from her, and Hermione could see the pain and guilt he carried. "I wish I could have done more," he said in a whisper.

"You gave me Finn, and in those circumstances," she shrugged her shoulders, "he was the closest thing to safety you could have offered me."

"Still—"

Hermione cut him off, raising her hand and smiling. "It's alright. Let's forget about it for now, okay?"

"Okay," he said with a smile. Draco reached for her hand and led her to the table, pulling the chair out for her. He seated himself across from her, and pointed his wand to the corner of the room. A soft music began playing, and Hermione's smile widened. It wasn't a song she recognised, but having been deprived from music for so long now, the sound filled her with delight. "I thought you'd enjoy that," he said, smiling back at her.

"It's lovely, Draco."

At that moment, a little _pop_ sounded, and they were joined by a house elf, who bowed deeply before snapping his fingers. Their plates were suddenly filled with food and their glasses with what looked like wine. The house elf bowed again without having spoken a word, and popped away as suddenly as he'd arrived.

Dinner was, as expected, delicious. Hermione was relieved that there really was no awkwardness between them—they seamlessly continued their conversations from letters as though they'd always been having them in person, rather than in writing. Hermione filled Draco in on some of the more minute details of life for her at the manor: her training, Rodolphus, and any other things she may have left out of the letters. He informed her on the state of the school, how terrible things were right now, and the Carrows' teaching methods. He also told her that he was sure there was a resistance within the school, as students had been disappearing for several months. He thought Neville might be a part of it, as he was never in any classes, but Draco had spotted him with students in the corridors several times.

The thought of Neville helping the students escape the tortures of the Carrows made Hermione both incredibly proud, and terribly sad. Hogwarts wasn't supposed to be a place students had to _escape_ from. It was supposed to be a safe haven, a place to get away from troubles and focus on learning magic. Voldemort had turned it into a torture facility instead.

"Hermione?"

Startled out of her thoughts, she looked up to see Draco staring at her, his expression serious and almost guarded. He looked nervous.

"Yes? Sorry, I was a little lost in thought, I guess."

He smiled at her, and took a deep breath, pausing a moment before he spoke again. "We need to talk about it."

Hermione's heart began to beat rapidly. She was certain she knew exactly what he was talking about, and she had no idea what to say. She nodded her head, trying to pull herself together for the conversation they were about to have.

"I realise this isn't ideal, but I can't think of a better way to keep you safe, and that is really all I care about. I wish we had time—time to figure something else out, time to do this the proper way, time to be young and…" he trailed off and sighed again. "These are clearly not ideal circumstances by any means, and—"

"Draco," she said, with a sad smile. "If the circumstances were different, there's a chance, a very good chance, really, that we wouldn't have ever even spoken to each other outside of heated insults. The only time we would have ever touched would have been when I punched you third year." He laughed quietly, and Hermione allowed a smirk to cross her features before continuing. "The circumstances are terrible, yes. But they are also the only reason we got to know each other, so…" She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him, letting the implication settle rather than finishing the sentence.

"You're right. I just wish… I wish you could agree to an engagement without it being a life or death scenario," he finished quickly, looking down at the table.

"So do I," she agreed quietly.

Draco cleared his throat, and started again. "I've spoken to mother, and she believes that it would be best for you if you were to seemingly consider all the contracts you are presented with." He paused and looked up at her with an intensity she hadn't expected. "I can't say I like that idea, but she is right. It would be a lot less suspicious if it didn't seem as though we already had a relationship. If I were in the running the same as everyone else was."

Hermione took a deep breath and sighed. She knew he was right, but she absolutely did not like what that meant. Pretending to date Dolohov, to act like she was _really_ considering him, would be disturbing at best.

Instead of focusing on that, however, she decided to try and look at her glass half full. "So, you're saying we get to date then? And you'll what, woo me?" she said with a laugh.

Draco smirked and leant back in his chair. "Hermione, I am going to woo you like you've never been wooed before."

She couldn't hold back the giggles that escaped, and while she was still worried about how this would go with Dolohov, she was also excited to get the chance to really try things out with Draco. She covered her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle herself, while Draco only grinned at her.

"Is it wrong for me to be a little excited about this?"

"If you're wrong, then I'm wrong, too."

She smiled at that, and reached across the table to take Draco's hand when he offered it. They remained silent for a few seconds, letting the moment settle around them. It became somber again far too quickly for Hermione's liking.

"So, we should pretend, then, that we've only just started to get to know each other?" she said.

"That would be best, though I will get a contract drawn up as soon as possible. As much as I hate it, you'll have to spend some time with Dolohov, as well."

"And Theo?"

Draco smiled. "I think you'll find you have quite a bit in common with Theo. I wouldn't be worried about getting to know him at all. But that does bring me to my mother's idea."

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

"If you ask the Dark Lord to give you more time, mother is fairly certain that he would agree. You'd have to emphasise your desire to be fair, and make the best match. Seeing as Theo is still in school, you won't have the chance to get to know him as well, and that doesn't seem fair to him, or you…" Draco said, trailing off.

"How much time do you think that will buy me?"

"I'm not sure," he said softly. "But it's better than nothing, and maybe we can figure something out in the meantime."

Hermione sighed and shook her head. She knew there wasn't much they could ' _figure out'_. This was not something that would go away with time, and she had stopped letting herself hope that she would be rescued any time soon.

"We have to try, Hermione. I can't _not_ try. Forcing you to be bonded to me, that's not something I want."

"I'm sorry," she said in a whisper, feeling the sting of tears approaching.

"Hermione, what _exactly_ are you sorry for?"

Looking up, she was surprised by the intensity of his voice and expression. Hermione frowned. "I know this isn't what you want, and I can't say I blame you. Especially having learnt the extent of the bonding ceremonies that will be used. I realise that you probably had a different plan for yourself and—"

"Are you seriously trying to apologise for the situation you are in right now? Your _capture_ and _imprisonment_. The fact that you have had to integrate yourself into a house of Death Eaters, practise Dark Magic, and will eventually have to bond yourself to one, for _life_? Please tell me you aren't apologising for that, Hermione."

"Well, not when you put it like _that_ ," she said softly. "But I'm not the only one being punished here, Draco. I just… I need you to know that I don't want to force you to do this. If you don't want… me. If you don't want to do this, it's ok." She knew her voice was barely a whisper as she finished, and her head was bowed down, unable to look across the table at him.

"I am going to kill Potter and the weasel," he muttered.

That was not what she had been expecting to hear at all. She looked up to see him still intently staring at her, but there was something else in his expression. A sort of disbelief. "What?" she asked, needing clarification.

"Potter and the weasel," he said, anger tinting his tone. "They are supposed to be your best friends."

"Harry _is_ my best friend. What are you on about?"

"I don't see how a _best friend_ could let you think you would be a _punishment_ , in any way," he seethed. "You are brilliant, fascinating, kind, and absolutely beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be with you, including me. Please don't think for a moment that this is a punishment for me, Hermione."

It was impossible to hide the blush that spread up her neck and into her cheeks. "Ok," she whispered.

"You are not a punishment," he repeated, punctuating the words for emphasis.

She met his gaze then, the sincerity in his words clear in his expression. "Alright."

"Alright," he agreed, a slow smile returning to his face. He took a sip of his wine and nodded. "We'll have to be careful around the others. It can't seem like you're giving me any more consideration than Theo, or even Dolohov, in the beginning."

"Right. Wonderful." She rolled her eyes. "Play nice with others, got it."

Draco laughed and stood from the table. He stepped toward her and held out his hand, which she took. He led her a few paces from the table before pulling her into him, keeping hold of her hand with one, and wrapping his other hand around her waist. He leant his head down and a warmth spread into her when his lips brush against her ear. "Not _too_ nice," he said huskily, sending chills down her spine. He began to lead her in slow motions, circling them around the small space. It wasn't a difficult dance, but Hermione again found herself thankful for Narcissa's tutelage as she was able to effortlessly follow along without any embarrassing mishaps.

Hermione let her head rest on his chest, closing her eyes and listening to his heart beat. She let herself relax, something she rarely did now, and just be in the moment. She didn't know how long they'd been dancing when Draco slowed, releasing her hand and tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

"I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe, Hermione." His voice was rough and full of an intensity she hadn't heard before.

Closing her eyes, she nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady. It didn't matter how hard he tried, safe wasn't something he could guarantee her here.

Her eyes were still closed, so she jumped when she felt his lips press against hers, a startled gasp escaping. Draco's mouth turned up slightly, she could feel him laughing at her, but she ignored that, instead wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back. A heat ran down her belly and straight into her core, and Hermione found herself pressing into him, needing to be closer, needing to have more.

Her lips moved against his desperately, and she clung to him, melting into his touch. When he tugged her lip through his teeth, she moaned, and Draco pulled back, panting. Hermione felt a distinct sense of loss at the distance between them and leant forward to kiss him again, only to be met with a shake of his head. She frowned, but Draco smiled and took her hand, dragging her to the door.

He opened it and peeked out, glancing down the corridor, before pulling her quickly out into the open. They raced along the corridors, somehow not running into anyone else, until Draco was opening another door and pulling Hermione into what she recognised as his bedroom. He quickly shut and warded the door behind them before dropping his wand onto the floor and pushing her back into the door, roughly capturing her lips in a heated kiss once more.

Draco gripped her wrists and pinned them above her head, his lips leaving hers and trailing across her jaw. He nibbled on her ear before making his way down her neck, nipping and licking as he went. Hermione shuddered at the sensations, her breath coming in hitches.

Draco released her hands and pulled her slightly from the door, reaching back to unzip her dress and then skimming his fingers over her shoulders, gently sliding the dress off until it fell in a heap of fabric on the floor. "This is how our first time should have gone," he whispered.

He took a step back from her and his eyes grazed her body hungrily. When he reached out, Hermione let him take her and lead her toward the bed. She moved her hands up and began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it and the white tee underneath from his body. Hermione slid her hands up his bare chest, marvelling at the muscle there. He leant forward and kissed her again, and she dropped her hands to his belt, pushing his trousers to the floor. Draco backed her up until her knees hit the mattress, their lips still locked. Scooting back, Hermione moaned at the pressure of contact when he crawled on top of her.

"I want you," Draco murmured against her lips.

Hermione nodded her head, her breath coming in quick pants. "Yes."

Draco began trailing kisses down her chest, his hands reaching under her and unclasping her bra, pulling it off and tossing it aside. He immediately moved his mouth to one breast, drawing it into his mouth, while he palmed the other, pinching and twisting the nipple. Hermione gasped when she felt his teeth nipping at her and she laced her fingers through his hair, her back arching up slightly. She gently pulled him back to her, their eyes meeting briefly before she was kissing him soundly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth deliciously.

He sat up, hands leaving her breasts and ghosting down her legs, stopping to gently pry them apart, exposing her to him completely. Hermione felt a blush creep across her body, but her embarrassment was quickly replaced with desire as he pulled his pants down, tossing them from the bed and then settling himself in the cradle of her thighs. She groaned at the feel of his hardness against her, nothing between them anymore.

Draco hovered above her, his face inches from hers, silently asking her permission to continue.

Hermione brought a hand up to cup his face, her thumb stroking along his cheek. "Please, Draco," she whispered.

Ever so slowly, inch by inch, he slid himself into her until he was deeply seated inside of her. Even like this, unmoving as they were, the feeling of fullness, the pressure he was so gloriously creating, was leaving her feeling heady and intoxicated. She rolled her hips, encouraging him to move. Draco brought his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly, sweetly. He groaned as he slowly pulled out of her, and she whimpered with desperate need, crying out when he pressed back into her, setting a pace that caused her to lose all thought, and simply feel. She lifted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, and was quickly lost in the moment, entirely consumed by him.

Her fingers were digging into his shoulders as their pace became more erratic. She knew she was close, on the edge of orgasm. When Draco shifted his weight slightly, lifting a hand to her breast and roughly palming her before tugging her nipple she shattered, dissolving into pleasure. With two more deep thrusts, Draco was coming inside her, even as her own orgasm continued to pulse through her. When they had both finally stilled completely, he leant down, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss before maneuvering himself to lay on the bed beside her.

Draco wrapped an arm around her midsection and pulled her into him until they were spooning, burying his nose into her curls. She sighed, bringing her hand up to lace her fingers with his. They lay quietly for a while, save for their breathing, which was still heavy from their coupling.

"That should have been our first time." Draco's breath warmed her ear and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.

Hermione rolled over so that they were laying face to face and kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, unlike the heated kisses they had shared earlier. It was sweet and tender.

"You know," he continued, "I haven't asked about it yet, but now I'm curious. Your necklace…"

She reached to her chest, fingering the gem that lay there. "Finn's idea," she said. "It's my Galleon, only he transferred the spellwork to this."

Draco reached out and lightly touched the necklace. "That makes me feel better, actually. I've yet to see you without it, and I was a little…" He trailed off as he looked over her shoulder.

"Was Draco Malfoy _jealous_?"

He rolled his eyes and huffed, but didn't deny it.

"You were!" Hermione laughed lightly and reached out to take his hand. "It's technically from Finn, but Draco, I wear it because it connects me to _you_."

"And the bracelet?" he asked.

"It's from Rodolphus. It's charmed to alert the wearer of poison."

"That's actually… really smart," Draco mused, lifting their hands to better examine the bracelet she wore.

"There are too many people here that… it makes me feel at least a little safer wearing it."

Draco kissed the back of her hand before letting them fall back to rest again in the space between them. "Have you had any more problems with Bella?"

She shook her head. "No, she's actually been avoiding me mostly, I think. I avoid her, too, so… mutual avoidance. It works out nicely."

"That's good," he said, stifling a yawn.

Hermione yawned, too, her tiredness becoming apparent. She had absolutely no desire to get up, find, and put her clothes back on, and trek all the way back to Finn's room, but she wasn't sure if Draco would want her staying the night with him or not. Summoning her courage, she quietly asked, "Draco, can I… can I stay here tonight?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "I would be delighted if you stayed with me tonight, Hermione." He tugged the covers so they could both slip their bodies underneath, and pulled her into him again until her back was pressed tightly against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled into her neck, kissing her softly there.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Draco.

"Nox."

xXxXxXx

Hermione woke early the next morning, sliding as stealthily as she could out of the bed so as not to wake Draco. He stirred slightly when her warmth no longer pressed against him, but he did not wake. Quickly gathering her clothes—and snatching up the white t-shirt Draco had been wearing the night before— she dressed and then eased open the door, peering into the corridor. She had wanted to get back to her room before any of the other occupants of the house were awake. If she was going to pretend to consider all her contract offers then being seen leaving Draco's room in the morning was not something that could happen.

She didn't run, because running was unbecoming of a lady. She hadn't realised how hard her heart was beating until she had finally made it into her room, her back leaning on the shut door behind her. She'd closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths trying to calm her nerves, when she heard Finn laugh loudly, causing her to jump into the air.

"Finn!" she cried. "You scared me!" Hermione placed a hand over her even more rapidly beating heart and glanced to the bed where Finn was sitting up

"Walk of shame, doll?" he said through a grin she couldn't see in the dark but knew was there.

With a huff, she kicked off her heels and walked to the bed, stripping out of her dress and pulling the t-shirt on before she crawled in, not bothering to take care of her dress—it was already full of wrinkles having spent the night on the floor of Draco's room. "I do not feel ashamed. I feel tired and I would appreciate it if you'd shut up so I can get some sleep."

"Oh, this is going to be good," he said with a snort.

Hermione rolled her eyes and closed her lids. She pulled the collar of the shirt up, letting Draco's scent envelop her as she drifted off to sleep.


	46. Backed Up Against The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
>  **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
>  **A/N:** Here's another chapter for you guys! Easier to keep to my original posting schedule than to change all the dates I have marked to update on, LOL. So, hope you enjoy this one!
> 
>  
> 
> ************************************************************************************
> 
>  
> 
>  **Please note:** This chapter does have a bit of a non-con scene. It is not graphic, but if that is a trigger for you, please tread carefully.
> 
> Xoxo, L

 

 

**CHAPTER FORTY-SIX  
Backed Up Against The Wall**

Rodolphus leant back in his chair, his hands in his lap. "And how do you feel about the contract that Theodore has presented you with?"

Hermione smiled and shrugged slightly, hoping to seem undecided. Truth be told, Theo's contract was worlds better than Dolohov's, but she had promised him that she wouldn't accept it, though her father didn't know that.

"It seems like a very generous contract. I just wish I knew him better. It doesn't seem fair to him that we don't have the opportunity to get to know each other like Antonin and I do," she said. Dolohov's name tasted like bile in her mouth, but she knew she had a part to play and convincing everyone of her position was important.

"Yes, shame he is still in school. I'm sure, though, that you will make the best decision, darling."

"Yes, I hope so." She smiled and sipped her tea. It was laughable that Rodolphus thought Dolohov would be a good choice for her, but she kept her mouth shut on that front, knowing it would do her no good to bring it up.

"And tonight is your night with Dolohov, is it not?"

Hermione willed her features to remain calm and delicate even though every fibre of her being was screaming at her. Dolohov had somehow gotten permission to take her away on a date, and she would be without her wand, and without Finn to hide behind. She was dreading it.

"Yes, it sounds like he has a lovely evening planned," she said, forcing a smile.

"I cannot wait for you to tell me about it."

Hermione smiled again before bringing her tea to her lips. She was sure there would be nothing of significance to tell.

xXxXxXx

She had chosen the most modest, unsexy dress she had available to her. It was light blue with a white lace covering the entire thing. The lace extended into sleeves and it had a high neckline. It looked like she could be going to tea with the Queen rather than on an evening date—which is exactly what she wanted—she didn't want to give him any ideas.

She left her hair down, pinned back in the front, and she chose nude heels. One last glance in the mirror and she decided that there was no more she could do. If this outfit didn't scream _not interested,_ then she didn't know what did.

Hermione made her way into the bedroom where Finn was waiting. Draco had wanted to be there as well, but they decided that it may cause suspicion if he was always there with her, even if he was good friends with Finn.

"My, my, my, look at you. Don't you just look the epitome of prim. Very demure, doll."

"I was actually going for, _I'm not interested, don't touch me,_ but prim and demure work as well, I suppose."

Finn laughed and stood, bringing her cloak over. He slipped it on her shoulders and pinned it closed in front before taking her hand. "It's all a ruse, Hermione. Just remember that. At the end of all this, you've got a perfectly respectable, and rather handsome," he winked at her, "husband waiting for you. No, no it's not me, don't pout. Draco does come as a close second, I'd say."

They both laughed at that, and Hermione squeezed his hand, gathering what strength she could. She would need to be on her best behaviour tonight, and that was going to take some patience, she knew.

"I'm surprised you were able to convince him to stay in his rooms tonight. He seemed pretty adamant that he was going to be here."

"Yes, well it would look pretty suspicious to have your other suitors here to see you off on a date. Besides, his nerves would have set yours into overdrive, and you don't need that."

She laughed, louder than usual due to her anxiety. "Looking out for my nerves now, are you?"

"I'm always looking out for you, witch. I find I've grown quite fond of you, even if you do have terribly cold feet that you insist on torturing me with every night."

"At least I'm not a bed hog. I don't know how you'd manage if I took up any more space than I do. You have one of the biggest beds I've ever seen, and yet you still somehow take up all the room." She laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed to wait.

Finn scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I take up more space than you because I am bigger than you. It's not my fault you are such a tiny little thing."

Hermione laughed loudly at that. "I'm not tiny! You are just massive."

They both chuckled briefly and let a silence grew between them before Finn spoke again. "He's worried about you, you know."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "I'm a little worried too. I don't know where he's taking me, and I still don't get to have my wand."

Finn opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp knock rapped on their door, and Hermione closed her eyes. Precisely on time, unfortunately. She was hoping he would have been late.

Finn stayed seated at the table while Hermione walked to the door, taking one last steadying breath before she opened it.

"Good evening, gorgeous," Dolohov said, smiling as he took her in.

"Good evening," she replied, before turning to Finn, who had stood up again, obviously for show.

"Don't keep her out too late, Dolohov," Finn said with a grin.

"Don't wait up," Dolohov replied with a salacious grin.

He led a few paces down the hallway before he stopped and held out his arm. "You look ravishing," he said as he took her arm.

Hermione had only a moment to smile at him before she felt the familiar tug of Apparition and found herself suddenly standing on a large blanket in the middle of a clearing. There were trees surrounding most of the area, but to one side there was a small lake.

It pained her to think it, but the area was really quite beautiful.

"It's beautiful," she said, looking around.

"Almost as beautiful as you are."

Fighting the grimace that threatened to overtake her face, Hermione turned her body to look at the lake. She was surprised that there was no chill at all, and decided he must have placed strong warming charms on the area.

Dolohov cleared his throat and motioned to the ground, sitting down next to a picnic basket Hermione had missed. She carefully sat down as well, tucking her legs underneath her and making sure that she was entirely covered up by the skirt of her dress and her cloak.

She watched as he began to pull things from the basket that must have had an undetectable extension charm on it. Two plates, two wine glasses, a bottle of what looked to be very expensive wine, cheese, grapes, crackers, some sort of thinly sliced meat, bread, and what looked like a jar of honey.

He smiled up at her, and she made the effort to smile back. "This looks lovely," she said, accepting the glass of wine that he had poured her.

"We haven't had much of a chance to spend one-on-one time together, and I thought a picnic would be nice."

He poured wine into the glasses, handing her one and then raising the other to her. Hermione smiled and gently tapped her glass to his with a delicate _clink_.

"Cheers," she said with a smile, before taking a sip.

Damn him, the wine was amazing. She had grown so used to the firewhisky Finn always had that she nearly forgot how wonderful a good glass of wine could be.

"I am sure your father has talked to you about this by now, but I wanted to personally present you with this." He waved his wand and handed her the envelope that appeared.

Hermione gently took the envelope and tucked it into her cloak without opening it. She already knew what it said, and she couldn't afford to lose her temper here. "Thank you," she said. "I really am glad we are getting to know each other better."

"As am I." He grinned at her and held eye contact just long enough to be incredibly uncomfortable, before moving to hand her a plate of food.

The evening wasn't as bad as Hermione feared, although it wasn't good by any means. She constantly worked on directing the conversation back toward him, rather than answering questions about herself and inevitably having to make things up.

The food turned out to be quite good, the wine was obviously delicious, the scenery was breathtaking. The only flaw with the date was the man she was on it with. Which, unfortunately, was hard to get past.

"So," he asked, placing his plate to the side. "You and Rowle seem quite close."

Hermione shrugged delicately. "He and I have become good friends, yes."

"It's unusual, you know, that your father is letting you live with him."

"Oh, it's not my father who suggested it," Hermione said. "The Dark Lord was the one who decided that is where I would stay. And I must agree with his decision. I have learnt so much in my time with Finn, my training feels very complete."

Dolohov sighed and appeared slightly frustrated, but Hermione ignored it and sipped her wine.

"It just seems improper, that you are staying with him."

Hermione let a surprised and slightly hurt look cross her face. "Improper? Oh dear, no. I assure you it's entirely proper. He has been ever the gentleman to me, and I am entirely sure he is not interested in me that way, anyway. Which is good, because I am not interested, either. Finn is a wonderful man, but he just isn't…" Hermione let herself blush, and she looked down. "Well, he's never taken me on a picnic," she finished quietly, hoping the statement would make him think she was enjoying herself.

After a moment's pause, Dolohov spoke again. "I'm very glad you came out with me tonight, Hermione," he said, placing his hand on her thigh.

"I'm glad, too," she replied, biting her lip with a stinging pressure in order to keep herself from shifting so that he had to remove his hand from her knee. He'd placed it there several times throughout the evening, and it made her stomach turn as she fought the bile rising in her throat.

She took a sip of her wine, finishing off the glass, and then allowed herself to casually shift, moving away from his touch to place her hands in her lap.

Dolohov waved his wand and everything vanished back into the basket, which he closed the lid on before standing up and offering his hand to her. She took it and let him help her to stand. Rather than having her take his arm like before, he kept her hand held tightly and stepped even closer to her so that they were mere inches apart. He gave her a smile, which she hesitantly returned before he Apparated them back to the manor.

They were just down the hallway from Finn's room, and it took everything Hermione had not to drop his hand and run to the safety of the bedroom. Instead, she smiled at him again and slowly turned to walk toward the door.

Dolohov walked with her for a few paces before tugging gently on her hand. They were just outside the door now, and Hermione knew she was moments from her freedom. The charade only had to last a few more seconds.

"I enjoyed myself tonight, Hermione."

"As did I. Thank you again, for everything."

Hermione watched, as if in slow motion, as Dolohov leant toward her. Her heart was beating rapidly as her mind started screaming in a panic. He was going to kiss her, and she didn't know what to do or how to politely get out of it.

All at once everything seemed to speed up, and his lips were pressed against hers. Hermione felt her body stiffen and freeze at the contact. He apparently took that as an invitation, because she was suddenly backed up against the wall as he pressed his mouth roughly on to her own. Hermione automatically brought her hands up, shoving against him and turning her head sideways to escape the kiss.

"Come on, baby. There's nothing wrong with a little goodnight kiss," he growled into her ear, letting his lips travel down her neck.

When she pushed again he grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head, holding them there with one of his own. Hermione struggled against him, but he completely overpowered her.

"We had a nice evening, Hermione. The least you could do is thank me properly for it." He used his free hand to force her face back to him, kissing her roughly and forcing his tongue into her mouth.

Hermione whimpered and tried to pull away from him but he held her tightly.

He finally broke the kiss only to begin sucking on her neck again. Hermione knew he was leaving a mark and it made her sick. "It's alright, gorgeous, you don't need to fight this."

"I don't think—"

"Shhh, that's right baby, don't think."

Hermione gasped when he slid his hand under her dress and up her thigh. "Please, stop!" she cried out, doing her best to pull away from him.. She pulled at her hands again, trying to free herself, and he slammed them back against the wall.

He had his fingers underneath her knickers now, and Hermione was angling herself in a way that would give her the best chance at kneeing him in the crotch, no longer caring about the consequences of not sticking to her cover, when the door to the room suddenly opened.

Dolohov immediately let her go, and Hermione wasted no time in running into the room, slipping past Finn, who had just barely poked his head out.

"Evening, Rowle," she heard Dolohov say.

"Dolohov. Goodnight," Finn replied curtly, before shutting the door.

Hermione was already in the bathroom, turning the water on in the shower and stepping in without even taking her dress off. She kicked her heels off, letting them clatter to the floor outside the shower.

Her breathing was ragged as she stripped the dress off and let it fall to the ground, kicking it to the corner of the shower. Standing in her bra and knickers, she used her hands to scrub at her body, trying to wash the filth of his touch from her skin.

"What the fuck happened?" Finn demanded, the door of the bathroom slamming against the wall.

Hermione took several deep breaths, calming herself. "Nothing, Finn, it's fine."

"It's not fucking fine, Hermione. Did he touch you?" Finn's voice was just under a shout, and Hermione could feel the anger radiating off of him.

She shook her head but continued to scrub at her body.

"Tell me," he growled.

"It's fine, Finn. He got handsy, you came out, he left, and now we are here."

"That mother fucking cunt! Get yourself dressed, I'm calling Draco."

"No! Finn, please, please do _not_ tell Draco! He—he won't handle it well, and we have to keep up the appearance that this isn't pre-decided! He wouldn't let me out of his sight if he knew."

"Bloody right he wouldn't! That bastard, I can't believe—"

"Finn, stop. Nothing happened. Please don't make this more than it was. Yes, Dolohov is obviously a disgusting human being. We knew that. Making a big deal out of this won't help anything, so just drop it. I have it under control." Hermione let the water run down her body, burning a redness into her skin that felt like it was erasing his touch. She stood for a moment, eyes closed, breathing deeply, before she shut the water off and stepped toward Finn slightly. "Hand me a towel, will you?"

He levelled her with an intense stare for several moments, looking as if he were deciding in that very moment whether or not to follow her lead on this, before sighing defeatedly and grabbing a towel off the counter, bringing it to her.

"Thank you. Now, bring me some pyjamas and we can talk about how to handle this."

xXxXxXx

An hour later, they had come to an agreement and formed a plan.

Finn would keep his mouth shut, as long as this was a stand-alone incident. Any further untoward behaviour on Dolohov's part would immediately be told to Draco, which Hermione found rather ridiculous—he wasn't in charge of her, she didn't have to report to him. Other than that, things would continue on as normal, however, Finn insisted that Hermione do everything in her power to never be alone in the same room as the man, which she didn't argue with at all. She would fake sickness if he tried to take her on any more private outings, and if it became unavoidable, she would have to accept Draco's contract sooner than planned.

The one thing that they both easily agreed on was that Hermione needed more training. So far she had been training in duelling, offensive and defensive, and she had been running to build stamina. Starting tomorrow, she would begin learning muggle fighting. Apparently, Finn had spent a good portion of his Hogwarts years in some sort of muggle style fighting club, wherein boys spent their evenings beating each other up to win a few sickles. It sounded ridiculous and stupid to Hermione, but she had to admit she was glad it was a skill he could teach her.

As it was late evening by the time they finished, both Hermione and Finn crawled into bed, ready to put the day behind them. Not five minutes after the lights turned off and Finn was already asleep, his breathing slow and even. Laying in the dark silence, Hermione couldn't turn off her brain.

If she ever had reason to doubt that she was in a home full of Death Eaters, tonight had surely reminded her. As the minutes ticked by, it became obvious that her brain would not let her rest. Images of Dolohov, his body grossly pressed up against hers, plagued her mind. Her skin burned where she could still feel his rough hands sliding up her thigh, and her stomach turned at the thoughts of _what if._

When she began to tremble, she quietly slipped from the bed, padding her way across the room into the bathroom, where she shut the door and put up a silencing charm, before losing herself completely to the sobs that wracked her body. Eventually, her tears ran dry and her body quieted. She leant over until her cheek was pressed against the cold tile of the floor and held herself, quiet and still.

xXxXxXx

 

 


	47. Concessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85
> 
> A/N: Happy holidays, friends! Blessed Yule, Merry Christmas, happy second day of Kwanzaa! Whatever you celebrate, (or don't) I hope you are having an amazing time! This update is a day late because FFN was having a freak-out yesterday and wouldn't let me upload, SORRY!! Anywaym, hope you enjoy this one! 
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

  
  


**CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN  
Concessions**

Hermione awoke in the bed the next morning, unsure of exactly how she had gotten there. She knew she'd fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, so Finn must have moved her at some point. She rolled over, but the bed space next to her was empty. Groaning, Hermione got up and made her way into the bathroom, intent on a shower.

After an incredibly lazy morning in which she hadn't even bothered finding clothes, and instead stayed in Finn's overlarge robe, she was finally dressed and sitting at the table, eating a bowl of fruit one of the elves had brought and reading one of the books Finn had on the shelf. Actually, she'd been staring at the first page for twenty minutes, unable to absorb any of the words there. Her mind kept drifting to other things. Reading the first sentence over once more and still completely uninterested in what it said, she tossed the book down and groaned. The cabin fever was really getting to her today; she couldn't stay in this room any longer. Crossing to the dresser, Hermione changed her clothes and placed her wand on the table, unhappy about leaving without it, but knowing it was that or use it to off herself, as she couldn't stand the boredom for another minute.

The manor was quiet as she walked through it, not running into anyone. She supposed it shouldn't surprise her any longer, actually, since most of the time she walked the halls here they were quiet. Everyone had something to do and were usually absent entirely or working in one of the offices.

She made her way outside, letting the fresh air invigorate her as she walked through the garden toward the gravel path past the last of the rose bushes. Bending down, she stretched her muscles for several minutes before sighing, and then setting off at a brisk pace, hardly able to believe she was actually exercising of her own free will. But it was this or die of boredom, and she would be rather put out with herself if she just quit life after all she'd already been through.

xXxXxXx

Another shower, and a fresh set of clothes later, Hermione found herself sitting at the table in the bedroom, absentmindedly transfiguring her teacup into a knife and back, repeatedly, which is exactly how Finn found her.

She was startled back into reality when his voice sounded in her ear. "Earth to Hermione!"

Slowly turning her head, she looked at the man now standing next to her, his eyes narrowed and confused. "What are you doing?"

Hermione shrugged. Honestly, she didn't know. She spent the night crying on the bathroom floor, and she'd woken up feeling empty and numb. It wasn't a welcome feeling, exactly, but certainly better than being gripped by fear and sadness, as she had been the night before. The run had helped, clearing her thoughts for a while as the familiar burn settled in her lungs and muscles, but when she was too tired to keep running, she'd ended up back in the bedroom, unable to escape her emotions any longer.

"Nothing," she finally replied.

"Nothing? Really? You think after four months I can't tell when—" He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Fine, Hermione. Look, we will talk about it again later, but right now, the Dark Lord wants to see you."

She snapped her head up to look at Finn. "Why?"

"I'm not really sure. After the meeting this morning, he asked me to have you come see him."

Sighing deeply, Hermione stood up and walked to the dresser. _What the fuck could he want?_ She searched through her clothes briefly before picking out a plain black dress— _what's new—_ and black heels. She quickly dressed and turned to Finn, holding her arms out, silently asking him to approve her attire. Not that she needed his _approval_ , but she was headed to speak with the fucking Dark Lord and she could use the support.

His face darkened slightly before he walked toward her and pulled his wand out. A handful of weeks earlier she would have backed away from the sight, but now she didn't even flinch. He tapped the wand against her neck and Hermione quickly realised he'd disillusioned the mark Dolohov had left there. She bit her lip, forcing the memory back down and solemnly nodding once at Finn. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead sweetly, changing the mood entirely. With a smirk he pointed his wand at her shoes; Hermione didn't even have to look down to know they were now red instead of black.

"You have some sort of fucked up fetish, Finn."

He laughed and walked to the door, holding an arm out for her. "Only for you, doll. Ready?"

Hermione shook her head, laughing at him, and met him at the door, taking his arm.

Finn led her through the manor and to a room she hadn't been in before. He looked at her, raising his eyebrows in question. She made sure her occlumency shields were firmly in place before nodding.

"I'll wait for you out here," he said encouragingly.

Hermione took a deep breath and knocked on the door, only mildly surprised when it opened of its own accord.

"Come in," the Dark Lord's voice greeted her, beckoning her inside.

She walked into what appeared to be an office, with a large desk, bookshelves, and a fireplace, among other things. The Dark Lord was sitting at the desk, his head bent over an assortment of paperwork, but he brought one hand up, gesturing for Hermione to take a seat opposite him. He wrote something on one of the papers before setting his quill down. With a wave of his hand, the paperwork skittered across the surface and neatly tidied itself into a pile in the corner.

He smiled up at her, watching her take her seat. Once she was settled, he spoke. "Hello, Miss Lestrange."

"Hello, sir," she answered, smiling and nodding her head in response.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm quite alright, thank you." She wasn't sure where this was going, and it made her exceptionally nervous.

"How is your training going?"

"It's going well, sir. Thorfinn is an excellent teacher."

"As I knew he would be. Now, you have been here for what, three months?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir. Nearly four."

"Do you know the reason I have allowed you to stay, Hermione?" His tone was polite, however, Hermione couldn't help but hear the threat in it.

"Not particularly, sir, no."

He smiled, a calculating, shrewd sort of smile, and laced his fingers together, placing them in front of him on the desk. "It's a fine line, wouldn't you say? Between loyal, obedient followers, and fearful servants. One must keep the peace, so to say. In order to maintain complete control, you must create the illusion of making concessions, of granting indulgences.

"Most of our members continued on in my absence; they lived their lives during the void." He shrugged, bringing his hands up in supplication. "A very human response. I don't blame them for it. But it does leave me with a bit of an obstacle. I now have members who have widened their priorities. They want to see the returns of their labours, you see.

"And the return of that labour, unfortunately, is deeply embedded in the family life they have created. They wish to see their children married off, their grandchildren born."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"You see now, don't you? If I allow, _encourage_ , even, family life, then…" He left the sentence open, raising an eyebrow slightly and smiling.

"Then they remain loyal and obedient," Hermione said, finishing the thought.

"Exactly. By giving them what they want, I am garnering continued obedience through loyalty, rather than fear or something else. And loyalty is a powerful thing, Miss Lestrange. Not to mention the benefit of an expansion to our numbers, as far off as it currently is."

"The babies," Hermione whispered.

"Yes, Miss Lestrange. It remains an important aspect of control, you see, to make those you control believe they are sovereign, at least in some aspects of their lives. So, they have asked for marriages and grandbabies, and," he shrugged again, "That is what I will allow them."

Hermione was almost afraid to ask her next question, but she pushed the anxiety down and spoke. "But, I am—"

"Ah, yes. There is only one of you here, and several bachelors, although I believe you only have two contracts presented as of yet. Narcissa has been whispering in my ear her attempts to encourage Draco to offer for you, and although I would like him to choose of his own accord, if he does not do it soon, I will force him to. Anyway, it's lucky that there are many more willing participants in the other sects. In France, for example, there are already three accepted betrothal contracts, as well as several others on the table."

A roguish smile spread across his features. "Britain is not my only patronage, child. My reach extends farther than the Ministry knows. It would not do, you see, to work so hard on taking down one Ministry, one location, only for another to rise up and wrestle for dominance. No, when I take control, it will be complete. Absolute."

Stomach in knots, Hermione could feel her fingernails digging into her palms, her pulse thudding through her veins. She hadn't thought it could be worse than it already was.

"But, back to you, Hermione. You will be the initial spark in the British sect. Your marriage will be what leads the others to do the same. There aren't as many children of my followers here as there are in the other sects, but it is no less important for them to marry, bare children of their own. It will interlace the families, it will broaden the following, and it will instil trust and conviction in their leader. You see why you are so important?"

Hermione nodded, swallowing down her fear. She knew this was likely her only opportunity to bring up her wishes. "I understand completely, my Lord. And really, it's brilliant. I only—" she paused, biting her lip.

"Yes?" He asked, an eyebrow raised as he waited for her to continue.

"I feel as though I am at a disadvantage, in a way. The most obvious way to ensure others follow my lead, while still thinking it's their choice, is to let them marry for love. Or lust," she added, smirking. "And in order for them to feel comfortable doing that, _I_ must convince them that that is what I have done."

"You want to marry for love?" he said, no emotion in his voice.

"I very much want to marry for love. However, that is not what I mean, exactly. It just has to _look_ like I am marrying for love. Which means that I must put myself fully into choosing the right husband. I need to be seen getting to know them, dating them, falling in love with at least one of them. Then we plan the biggest wedding Britain has seen in a very long time, make a big fuss about it, and let the country fall in love with love. And make sure they know how much of a part you had to play into it.

"I guess what I am suggesting, my Lord, is that we put on a ruse. But in order to do that, I have to give each man equal opportunity. However, Theodore is currently at Hogwarts. Which means I have no access to him, no opportunity for _love_ to bloom."

He seemed to consider her for a moment, his eyes narrowing and appraising her. "You believe that putting off your wedding will make the others more likely to court?"

"I believe that if they fall in love with the idea of falling in love, with the idea of their children falling in love, then you will not only end up with copious weddings in the near future, but an expansion of your followers, as families begin to marry together, thus expanding your reach, even within the country."

"I assume you have a plan, then?"

Hermione shook her head slightly, the gears in her brain turning at an exceptional speed. _No, she did not, in fact, have a plan, but she could damn well come up with one._ "I think, my Lord, that we both know the only person who could pull off a wedding like that."

A short laugh and a smile surprised her. "I suppose then, you've made a decision on your groom?" He looked pleased, and Hermione couldn't help but feel relieved.

"Well, I don't suppose it would be very cordial to ask her to plan the century's biggest wedding for anyone other than her own child," she said, shrugging indifferently, before looking up and adding, "If that pleases you, my Lord."

"It doesn't matter much which man you wed, child, so long it sets in motion what we've talked about. However, I do believe you are right, a marriage for _love_ ," he said the word with a hint of distaste, "would be much better received than a forced one."

Hermione nodded, desperately trying to hide her relief at his agreement.

"I do need it to look real, though. You must be seen with all three suitors and any others who come into the running, though I haven't been informed of any others who wish to do so. You will make the country believe that you are falling in love. Your courtship with Draco will be very public, and your wedding will be broadcast for the world to see."

"Yes, my Lord."

She watched as he stood and walked to the liquor cabinet at the back of the room. He turned back to her, gesturing to the glasses, silently asking if she wanted any. She smiled but shook her head. He returned moments later with his glass, but rather than sitting back in his chair, he walked around his desk, leaning himself on the corner and sipping from his glass.

"Tell me, Miss Lestrange, do you think I am a deceivable man?"

If the words themselves hadn't thrown her into a complete panic, the icy tone of his voice would have. Her throat nearly caught as she swallowed.

"No, my Lord, I do not."

"Yet you wished to deceive me today?"

"I'm not—"

"You seemed very quick to form that plan, Hermione. As if you had already had such a plan."

Hardly managing to keep her nerves out of her voice, she said, "My Lord, I didn't have a plan before walking into your office today."

His expression and tone told her he didn't believe her in the slightest. "How were you able to come up with one so quickly, then?"

"I'm a quick thinker, my Lord. And when presented with the options, it seemed clear to me the best path to take. You wanted to inspire others to marry. The best way to do that is with a ridiculously public love story. In order for that to work, I would have to be seen falling in love. Now, I haven't had much interaction with any of the men who have presented me contracts. Theodore, I don't know at all, which automatically puts him lower on the list. I have had one outing with Dolohov, however, he was… rather inappropriate." She drew a blush to her cheeks by bringing the memory of him attempting to assault her to the forefront of her mind, making sure to grimace as she did so. She shook her head after a moment, hoping that her little act had the desired effect. "That leaves Draco, who I'll admit, I didn't have the best relationship with in school. However, I have been able to spend a small amount of time with him when he's been visiting Thorfinn, and coupled with Thorfinn already being quite favourable toward him," she shrugged delicately, "I trust his recommendations, so it really was an easy choice to just pick one, my Lord. Plus if the end goal is an ostentatious wedding, Narcissa really is the only reasonable choice there," she said with a bit of a laugh.

He seemed to consider her for only a moment before a smile broke out across his face. "Quick thinking indeed, Miss Lestrange. I admit I am rather excited to see how this plays out. I must ask you not to inform Misters Dolohov or Nott of your decision, in order to _play the game_ , if you will. However, Mister Malfoy should be notified, so that he knows to act accordingly. I can set up a meeting with him myself if you wish. I will also have Mister Dolohov alter the time constraint on his contract, informing him of our effort to ensure fairness to Mister Nott, as well as reminding him that you are, in fact, a pureblood daughter of Rodolphus, who isn't known to have an even temper, and that you are currently under my roof, and therefore, my protection. If he lays a hand on you again, I expect you to come to either your father,or me. We may be Death Eaters, but I do not tolerate the subjugation of women."

_At least not pureblood women,_ she thought. Though, she was surprised to hear him say it, and couldn't help but feel marginally safer at his quiet threat. "Thank you, my Lord. And I don't mind informing Draco. I realise you are a very busy man." Hermione was near vomiting as a mixture of nerves and relief churned in her stomach.

"Very well," he said, nodding and sipping his drink. He stood and moved back around to his chair, settling into his desk and pulling the stack of paperwork back toward him. Hermione sat for a moment, but when he made no further indication of requiring her presence, she pushed the chair back and stood, turning to walk toward the door.

"Oh, and Miss Lestrange?"

She stopped in her tracks, her heart racing. "Yes, my Lord?"

He looked up at her and smiled a sickeningly frightening smile. "As we are pushing back your wedding, to the groom of _your_ choosing, I believe it's only fair that I add a concession to our agreement."

"Alright," she said, not trusting her voice to remain steady for more words than that.

"I think a Dark Mark would pair rather nicely with your wedding dress. What do you think?"

He posed it as a question, however, Hermione knew it was no such thing. He was testing her response. So, keeping her facial features as in control as humanly possible, she let one corner of her mouth slide up into an agreeable smirk. "I believe you are quite right, my Lord."

"Indeed. Within the month, then, I'd say. That should give you plenty of time to heal before the ceremony." He nodded at her once more, and the door in front of her swung open; a clear dismissal.

Hermione did her best to keep a slow, steady pace until she was well into the hallway, past the view of the room.

Finn stood as soon as he saw her and immediately rushed to her side, taking her arm and continuing to walk with her down the hallway, as she hadn't stopped.

"So?" he asked.

"Let's just get to the room," she said, not looking at him. She suddenly wasn't sure if she had made things better, or worse for herself. Yes, she had just guaranteed herself married to Draco, which was good. However, she had also just guaranteed her permanent place among the Death Eater ranks.

Finn wasn't happy with that answer, apparently, and pulled her to a stop. "What happened?" he growled.

"Finn, everything is fine. Nothing has really changed, the timeline has just been altered a bit. Now please, let's discuss it in the room. I don't want to have to repeat myself, so we will have to call Draco over, too." She firmly shook her arm free of his grip and began walking again, determined to get to their room before she had a breakdown of some sort. She could feel it building under her skin.

When they got into the room, Hermione made a beeline for the bathroom, kicking off her heels as she went.

"Call Draco. I'm going to take a shower."

It was at least a half hour before she emerged from the shower. Hot water was just what she'd needed to pull herself back together. She had to get control of her emotions before she faced Draco and Finn because Merlin knew they would have a hell of a lot to say about it. Using her wand, she dried herself off, leaving her hair slightly damp—Narcissa had taught her a little trick which actually worked quite well—and she summoned a pair of pajymas she had tucked away in the bathroom for emergencies. It was just an old tee shirt of Finn's, but it was comfortable as hell and easy to throw on. Plus, it covered more of her than most of the pajymas Narcissa has bought for her.

When she walked into the main room, she was unsurprised to see Draco and Finn sitting at the table, each with a tumbler of firewhisky in their hands, and each with their eyes firmly glued to her. Hermione walked to the table, ignoring the boys and perched herself on the arm of Draco's chair, taking the half-full glass of firewhisky from him and swallowing it in one go. She looked up at them then, summoning the bottle from the other side of the table and drinking right from it.

"Whoa," Draco said, reaching up to take the bottle from her, though not before she had a substantial swig. "What in the bloody hell happened?"

"More or less exactly what we knew would happen," Hermione said relinquishing the bottle and placing the empty glass back on the table. She swivelled fractionally so that she was facing both the men in front of her. "We're getting hitched," she said dryly, "and my dress is going to prominently display my Dark Mark." She leant forward and snatched the bottle again, taking another long sip.

"Well," Draco said, sighing deeply. "Alright then," he said, taking the bottle from Hermione and raising it to his own lips. "Start from the beginning."

It seemed like hours had passed by the time she had finished explaining to them what exactly had been said in that office, but Hermione knew it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes. Aside from an angry, though expected, outburst from Draco when she got to the part about Dolohov's _inappropriateness_ , they had remained silent throughout her telling, saving their questions for the end.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me about Dolohov?" Draco growled, his fists visibly shaking and a vein in his neck popping uncharastically from his skin.

"Because I knew you would react like this, and I honestly didn't want to deal with it," she said sharply, going for the firewhisky again.

Draco made an indignant noise and took the bottle from her, though not before she could get a good drink in. "What _exactly_ did he do?"

"Nothing, Draco. He didn't _do_ anything. He attempted, Finn came out, and I ran away. Literally. Now please, drop it."

"You should have told me." His voice was low, and Hermione knew he was seething, though she wasn't sure how much of it was directed at her and Finn for not telling him, and how much was directed at Dolohov.

"Understood. It doesn't change anything now, so let's move on." She was not in the mood for this right now. "We have bigger things to discuss than Dolohov's wandering hands. Although, I suppose there isn't anything imminent we need to figure out. The plan, essentially, remains the same. As I said earlier, it's just the timeline that's changed."

"So what do we do now, doll?"

Hermione thought for a moment and then laughed without humour. "Try not to castrate Dolohov when I have to see him next?"

"No promises," Draco said, taking a heavy drink from the bottle. They had foregone glasses entirely now, it seemed.

"So we just continue on as we have been, then." Hermione shrugged and stood up from the table. "We aren't supposed to tell Dolohov and Theo, obviously, but since Theo already basically agreed to this, I don't see the harm in telling him." She paced the room a bit as her brain began plotting, trying to figure out the best way to handle the entire situation. She knew, in the end, this is exactly what they had wanted. She wouldn't end up bound to someone vile like Dolohov; she would remain relatively safe with Draco, at least. And taking the Dark Mark, well, she knew that was bound to happen eventually. Might as well get it over with.

"Hermione."

She looked over at the table, where Finn was clearly doing his best to get her attention. She realised she must not have heard him speaking to her, and she quickly turned her own inner dialogue down to hear what he had to say.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I was just saying that we should probably talk about the stipulation—the Mark. I know that you aren't prepared for that so soon, and—"

Hermione cut him off. She wasn't ready to deal with that bit quite yet, and she definitely didn't want to discuss it with Draco here. He didn't need to see her inevitable break down. "It's fine, Finn. We knew it was coming. Let's not dwell on it right now—it won't help anything."

"Yes, but—"

She sent him a sharp glare and crossed her arms. "Not now, Finn."

He looked concerned, but he took a breath, clearly resigned. He shared a look with Draco, before pushing his chair back from the table and standing up.

"Fine. I have some things I need to do. I'll be back in a couple hours."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was one of the more pathetic attempts at subtly giving two people time alone that she'd ever seen. She didn't comment, though, and simply nodded at him, arms crossed, and watched him leave the room. He would be back soon enough, likely with an array things to talk about. Right now she had to focus on dealing with Draco.

Once the door had shut, Draco stood up and crossed the room to where she was standing. Rather than speaking, however, he simply opened his arms and pulled her into his chest, holding her close.

It took every ounce of control she had not to break down and cry.

It was one thing to expect something to happen, but an entirely different beast to watch as it really _did_ happen. She was going to be a branded Death Eater. She was going to have to commit atrocious crimes against humanity, and she was going to have to do it with a smile on her face. How could she ever forgive herself for what would unfold? How was she going to torture people? To kill people? She knew little of the actual branding process, but she did know that one of the _ceremony_ aspects would involve her killing someone, a sacrifice or some nonsense. Finn hadn't talked about it much with her yet, mostly because she always told him she didn't want to know until it was absolutely necessary—dwelling on it would only sicken her. But she did know that, at least. Was she prepared to end someone's life, just to continue her own? Was it worth it? She hadn't been able to contact the Order at all since she'd been captured. What good was it for her to go through all of this if she couldn't even give information back to the Order? No, she couldn't think like that. Once she was a Marked Death Eater, she had to believe she would be given more freedom—eventually—and then, _then she could do something useful._ She would be able to inform the Order, to help them win this war. Until then, she had to do whatever it took to stay alive.

Once she had calmed down, Hermione took one last breath before pulling from Draco. "It's going to be fine," she said, not sure if it was more for her, or for him.

He smiled at her, bringing one hand up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "It's going to be more than fine, Hermione. This is exactly what we were trying for, anyway. Now we just have to let it play out."

"I'm going to have to spend more time with Dolohov. Are you going to be able to handle that?" She used a teasing tone, but she really was a bit worried about it. If he couldn't keep it together it would blow their cover, and she knew the Dark Lord was already a little suspicious of her.

"No, not particularly. But it won't be for long. All I have to do is make you fall in love with me, remember? I'm quite handsome, much more so than Dolohov; although I admit, Theo is rather pretty to look at, too." he said with a laugh. "And really, the Dark Lord already knows who you are going to choose, so all we have to do is convince everyone else. That shouldn't be too hard."

He dipped his head down until their noses were touching, and Hermione's heart began to beat a little faster. In that split second the mood had changed entirely, and she was very aware of the sudden hardness pressed up against her.

"I don't know, I've been told to expect wooing," she said breathily, despite herself. How could he affect her this much?

"As I said before," he kissed her once, only lingering for a moment. "I am going to woo you entirely, Hermione. I don't expect Dolohov to last a month," he said in hardly more than a whisper.

He kissed her again, this time more deeply. Hermione shivered at the contact, letting her mind clear as she threw herself into the kiss. She would have to plan, scheme, and fake her way through Merlin knows what in the coming weeks, but for now, she let herself get lost in the way Draco's lips felt against hers, the way her heart raced as his tongue slipped into her mouth, the way his hands felt on her arse, the way he pressed himself into her, letting her know just how much he wanted her.

She pulled herself together just long enough to pull away from Draco, flicking her wand at the door, casting a non-verbal locking spell. It wouldn't keep Finn out if he really tried to get in, but hopefully, it would at least deter him. Draco didn't need any more explanation than that; he smiled briefly before resuming their kiss, much more fervently now, and hoisting her up until she locked her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bed, gently setting her down on the edge and letting his hands roam until they found the hem of the shirt. He pulled it over her head, breaking their kiss only long enough to get the material over her head. His hands immediately went to her breasts, rolling and pinching her nipples until she moaned. While he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, Hermione threaded her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck. She shuddered, snapping her head back up when his lips brushed across the scar on her chest from Bellatrix. She kept her scars disillusioned, and she honestly didn't know if he remembered it was there, but she knew he would be able to feel it.

"Relax, Hermione," he said, his voice a husky whisper as he kissed the length of the scar he now knew was there, whether she'd wanted him to or not. "We've all got scars."

Choosing to ignore that— _he didn't know; he hadn't actually seen all of her scars,—_ Hermione slid her hands to the front of his shirt and began unbuttoning it, pushing it from his shoulders. He brought his head back up, capturing her lips again as he shrugged out of the shirt, before pushing her gently back until they were lying on the bed. Resting on one elbow, he slid his other hand slowly down her body, hooking a finger in her knickers and pulling them off, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder.

Slowly, he began kissing along her jaw, stopping to nibble on her ear, which sent a jolt of pleasure right between her legs. He continued his way down, kissing each inch of skin he passed on his way, spending extra time at first one, and then the other breast. She was nearly trembling with need by the time she realised exactly where he was going. His head was still at her navel, but he gently drew his fingers up her leg, stopping at her knee to gently ease her legs apart.

A deep blush spread across her cheeks as Hermione made a noise, bending her knee and trying to draw him back up to her. "You don't have to…"

He looked up, confused at first, but quickly understanding as he took in her expression and the blush. "You don't like it?" he asked, not moving from where he was, but also not going any further.

Hermione bit her lip, feeling her cheeks redden even more. "I don't—I don't really know," she whispered. "No one has ever…" She shrugged, although she wasn't sure he could even tell from their positions. She knew from experience, as well as girl talk in the dorms, that most guys didn't especially like going down on girls, and she hadn't exactly been that upset it had never been done to her. She was sure the embarrassment of the act would eat her alive.

"Tell me to stop if you want, and I will," he said earnestly, "but I think you'll enjoy it." He winked at her before bringing his attention back to her skin, beginning to kiss and nip at her skin as he continued downward.

Her breath quickened, more from nerves at this point, as she felt his chin reach her upper thigh. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. When he scooted down a hair further, his tongue laving the dip at her hip bone, she threw a hand up and cast a non-verbal _Nox_ , feeling slightly better as the room immediately darkened. She felt his chest reverberate as he chuckled, apparently enjoying her nervousness.

Hermione felt his breath hot against the inside of her thigh, his hair tickling her skin as he pushed her thighs further apart. He kissed and softly bit her inner thigh, as one of his hands ran up her body to tug at her nipple again. A moment later she cried out as she felt his tongue slowly lick her.

Whatever she had been expecting, it hadn't been this. She couldn't even tell you what he was doing, the sensations were so intense she couldn't make out the individual movements that created them. It almost felt like he was teasing her as he kissed and licked her, erasing all rational thought from her mind. The pressure built steadily inside her, coiling in a hot heat in her centre. She couldn't control the sounds she was making, and she gasped when he finally slid first one, and then two fingers inside of her. It couldn't have been more than a minute after that she was gasping, her hips arching up to meet the thrust of his fingers as he brought her closer and closer to climax. When he gently scraped his teeth along her clit, sucking hard and thrusting his fingers at the same time, she shattered, dissolving into pleasure as her body pulsed around him. He slowed his motions but didn't stop, which seemed to prolong the sensation as her moans echoed throughout the room.

When she finally stilled, panting and shaking slightly, he crawled back up her body, kissing her sensitive skin along the way.

"Okay?" he asked, and she could hear the smug smile he was wearing.

She laughed then, hardly able to remember why she'd been so nervous. If she knew it was going to be like that, she'd have all but demanded it from her other partners. "More than," she said softly, threading her fingers through his hair.

He leant down to kiss her then, pulling away before the kiss really even started. She could taste herself on his lips and found she wasn't bothered by it in the least—a sweet, musky taste she hadn't expected at all.

He stood from the bed, and she watched as he backed up a step. It was dark enough that she couldn't really see clearly, but between the motion and the sound, she realised that he was undoing his buckle and taking his trousers off. A moment later he was back on the bed, crawling up to her and settling himself between her thighs.

She didn't wait for him this time, pulling his face to hers and kissing him soundly. He immediately took control of the kiss, running both hands along the length of her arms, stopping when he got to her wrists. Gripping them gently but firmly, he pushed until both her arms were pinned above her head, which she found surprisingly erotic.

Unable to pull him closer with her arms, she brought her legs up, wrapping them around him and doing what she could to get the friction she desperately sought, earning a low groan from him in response.

"Gods, Hermione," he said huskily, rutting himself against her in response.

He let go of her hands then, dipping his head to nip at her neck, sucking the skin hard enough that she knew it would leave a mark. Apparently satisfied with his work there, he moved again, taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking on it until she gasped needily and arched, pressing her breasts toward him.

"Draco," she nearly begged, "please."

"Since you asked so nicely," he teased, taking only a moment to line himself up to her entrance before he was sliding into her, stretching her deliciously with his length.

Hermione moaned loudly, her hips arching up to meet him of their own accord. He slowly slid out of her, only to push himself back in, somehow feeling deeper each time and setting a pace that quickly had the fire in her centre building again. She wrapped her arms around him, dragging her nails down his back and earning a hiss of pleasure from him in return.

As the pressure inside her built to near combustion, Hermione could tell Draco was getting close as well. His rhythm was becoming less consistent and his breathing more erratic. Leaning onto one arm, Draco reached a hand between their bodies, rubbing her already throbbing clit until she was screaming out her climax, clutching him to her as her body writhed beneath his. Three more thrusts and Draco was coming undone as he pulsed inside her, sighing her name like a prayer as he did.

As both their bodies stilled, and the deep ache of need washed away leaving them sated, Hermione drew her arms up his back, twining her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. After a moment, Draco gently pulled out of her, shifting their bodies until they were both lying on their sides and she was spooned into him. Several minutes passed as he held her, and Hermione knew they needed to get up soon, but she just couldn't bring herself to leave the comfort of his embrace.

Finally, when her eyelids were struggling to stay open, and she was seriously debating the consequences of falling asleep and letting Finn eventually find them there, Draco stirred. He pressed a gentle kiss into the crook of her neck before edging away from her and slowly climbing out of the bed. She heard his belt scrape the floor when he presumably picked it up, and the telltale sound of his clothing being put back on.

She groaned in protest when a familiar piece of cloth landed on her head but reached an arm out of the warmth of the blankets to grab the tee shirt she'd been wearing and pull it on.

Draco leant onto the bed, pressing a kiss to her temple before straightening and sighing. "I wish I didn't have to leave."

"So do I," she said, already missing the warm comfort of his chest pressing into her back.

"Have breakfast with me tomorrow?"

She smiled but shook her head, forgetting for a moment that he likely couldn't see the movement in the dark. "Can't. I'll be busy getting my arse handed to me by your mother tomorrow morning. She is scary good at duelling."

He laughed at that, a genuine and knowing sound. "Yes, yes she is. Alright, fine, then dinner?"

"Dinner, yes," she said through a yawn.

When he spoke next, his voice sounded further away, and she realised he must be at the door. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Night," she said, stifling another yawn as the door opened and then clicked shut behind him.


	48. Here to Collect You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> A/N: We're closing on our house today, which means SO MUCH WORK TO DO! Gah. Moving really is the pits. This will be my 9th move in the last 6 years, but hopefully the last for a while! Anyway, all that to say the next update might be a little late, sorry! Love to you all, your reviews are basically my lifeblood, and I cannot thank you enough!  
> Xoxo, L

 

**CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT**

**Here to Collect You**

Hermione woke up rather earlier than she would have liked, if she went by the way her body felt, and only just repressed a startled scream when she opened her eyes.

Finn was staring at her, his face only inches from her own, looking so much like a teenage girl that, once the shock of seeing him passed, she fell into a fit of giggles. He was laying on his stomach and resting on his elbows, head propped up between his hands and feet in the air, crossed at the ankles. He also had a ridiculously high bun in his hair and a stupid grin on his face.

"I swear," she said through a laugh, "you look almost exactly like one of my old roommates, only prettier." Wiping the tear from the corner of her eye she scooted away from him and sat up. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Well, you see," he said, his voice unnaturally high and gossipy. "I left my room for a time last night, and when I returned, the door was locked. So, being the amazing roommate that I am, I went to the kitchen to find a sandwich and a drink. An _hour_ later, I watched a very dishevelled and satisfied looking blond walk past said kitchen toward his bedroom, so I thought it'd be safe to return to my quarters.

"The door was unlocked this time, aiding my suspicions, and when I crossed the room to get myself ready for bed, I stepped on something damp, carelessly left in the middle of the floor." He smirked wickedly before reaching behind him and holding up a pair of lace knickers. _Her_ lace knickers.

Hermione blushed a deep red, trying to think of something to say. Before she could, Finn laughed and spoke again.

"It's utterly unfair that sex is being had, _in my bed_ , yet I myself, am not having any sex."

The deep pout on his face had her laughing again, her mortification at his stumbling across her wet knickers fading. She reached out and snatched them from him, shoving the material underneath her pillow. "No one is stopping you but yourself, Finn," she said with a laugh.

"Oh, are you offering yourself up then? Maybe I should have just joined in last night, eh?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes. " _Not_ what I meant. I can easily vacate this room for an hour or two, you know."

He laughed deeply at that. "Yeah, because that would go over so well. _'Oh, Thorfinn, what a lovely room you have here. What a wonderfully big bed you have.'_ " His voice was adorably high pitched as he mocked a woman's voice, and quickly ducked a hand underneath her pillow, retrieving the stowed knickers and holding them out once more and giving them a little shake. " _'You scoundrel! How could you!'_ "

Hermione snatched her knickers back and laughed. "Alright, alright, point taken. Bringing a woman back to your place when you clearly live—"

"And sleep with," he added, grinning.

" _And sleep with,_ another woman isn't exactly the way to get laid."

Finn shook his head but was still grinning wickedly at her. "So let me live vicariously through you, doll. Tell me all the gory details. Obviously, it was good if your knickers were that we—"

He didn't get to finish that sentence, as Hermione had smacked him upside the head, shouting, "Finn!"

A deep, hearty laugh echoed around the room as she scrambled from the bed and hurried into the bathroom, Finn clearly not trying to subdue his laughter at all.

Once she had showered and dressed, Hermione sat at the table with a quill and parchment, intending to get a few things done before she had to meet Narcissa. She penned out a letter to Theo, for appearances. She exaggerated as best she could, hoping he would read between the lines and realise their agreement still held. After signing her name, going as far as to add a tiny little heart at the end, she passed the parchment over to Finn.

"How's that?" she asked, letting her mind wander as he began to read.

She had to put on one hell of a show, here. Not only convincing the Death Eaters that she was properly trying to assimilate into their midst and consider each of her betrothment offers, and eventually fall in love with Draco, but she had to convince the rest of wizarding Britain. _Joy._ She'd never been much for acting before, but she supposed the last several months had taught her the skill well enough—it turned out to be rather easy to learn something quickly when your survival depended on it.

She would begin writing to Theo regularly, possibly even have Finn escort her to Hogsmeade for a public date—that would certainly start a good rumour. It was only another month or so until summer, and then they could begin going out a little more publicly, playing it up a little more. Until then, owl correspondence would have to do.

Dolohov, on the other hand, was going to be tricky. She already saw him with more regularity than she would like, as they both lived in the same house. He was bound to ask for her time again, and she wasn't sure how she was going to handle that, let alone how Draco would handle it—or Finn, for that matter. She would have to come up with a plan, she just hadn't a clue what it would be yet. She supposed she could just do her best to become entirely too busy to see him, however, that would limit her time with Draco, as well—at least publicly. And that was the point of the ruse, anyway, to be seen falling in love with Draco. So, no, that wouldn't work at all, then. She'd have to think of something else.

While her talk with the Dark Lord yesterday hadn't been entirely pleasant, she did at least get the impression that he would be speaking to Dolohov regarding his behaviour. She could only hope that would keep him in check in the future, although she wasn't entirely certain it would.

Then there was Draco. Actually, come to think of it, he hadn't even given her a betrothal contract yet, so technically he wasn't on her official list, yet. However, she had a feeling he wouldn't wait long, not now that the Dark Lord had essentially ordered them to marry. She was curious what that contract would look like. She didn't know how much he would be able to get away with—if it would have to be similar to Theo's, which, admittedly was world's better than Dolohov's—or, if he would be able to be even more lenient.

Remembering that she'd handed the letter to Finn, she glanced up to see if he'd finished it yet and found him leafing through the Prophet, instead.

"So? Did you read it?" she asked him.

Chuckling, he put the paper down and handed her the letter back. "Yes, doll, I read it. Finished it a bit ago, actually, but you were off on planet Hermione, so I left you to it."

She rolled her eyes but took the parchment, tucking it into an envelope and setting it aside for the post owl before shrugging. "Just planning."

"Yes, well I hope you're planning on getting your arse handed to you even harder than usual, as well. It's five till."

"Fuck!" she hissed, pushing herself back from the table and racing toward the door. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

Much to her dismay, Finn kept a calm, leisurely pace along the corridors until they reached the room she met with Narcissa in. She would have run ahead, but then she'd end up arriving flushed and out of breath, as well as wandless, and that would be equally appalling to the woman as her tardiness.

She sent Finn a malicious glare as he handed her wand over, and knocked once on the door before entering.

Narcissa was sitting at the table with an expression that would seem impassive to most; however, Hermione knew better. Internally cringing, she moved to take her seat at the table.

"Good morning, Narcissa," she said meekly.

"So very glad you decided to grace me with your presence this morning," she replied, an eyebrow raised.

Hermione fought to keep her own expression neutral—one of the many lessons Narcissa had been drilling into her head was not to show your weakness or discomfort—and reached out to fix her tea. "It is a lovely morning, isn't it?"

Narcissa held her gaze for a moment longer before letting out an uncharastic snicker and beaming at her. "You really have learnt well, my dear," she said, her expression and posture relaxing. "Now, tell me what happened."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her, silently questioning the woman.

"Oh, come now. Of course I know," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Draco came to see me last night, not to mention that I've been whispering in the Dark Lord's ear for weeks now. So, tell me." She finished matter of factly, settling her hands into her lap as she waited for Hermione to respond.

Shaking her head slightly, Hermione smiled and began to tell Narcissa of her meeting. When she had finished, Narcissa was smiling, although it was her polite smile more than her genuine smile.

"Well, all in all, that is good news. Not exactly the timeline we'd hoped for, but better than the alternative."

"You're just excited that you get to plan a wedding," Hermione said dryly.

The woman flat out grinned back at her, not even trying to hide her emotions. "That certainly is part of it." She paused then, her smile turning more sincere and her tone taking on a rather serious note. "Hermione, I know this isn't what you wanted for your life. I realise that your hand is being forced and you have no other options. However, I am honestly honoured to have you as a daughter-in-law. I think you and Draco will be good for each other."

A blush spread over her cheeks, but Hermione wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she just smiled and nodded. It wasn't often that Narcissa spoke quite so frankly.

"Now, let's have our breakfasts, and we can talk about your wedding," Narcissa said with an excited gleam in her eye.

"I really don't think I have any preferences, actually."

"So you wouldn't mind then, say, an entirely traditional bonding ceremony?"

Hermione nearly spit out the sip of tea she had taken, only just managing to maintain her dignity, even though her eyes were very near bulging out of her head.

Narcissa straightened a little, clearly having received the reaction she was looking for. "Didn't think so," she said smugly.

"Well excuse me for not wanting to be stark naked in front of everyone in attendance," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Which would include both my father and the groom's father," she added with a shudder.

Narcissa chuckled and waved her hand airily. "Obviously we won't plan a traditional ceremony, child. I was just making a point that you do have preferences."

Hermione sighed. "Alright, fine. I have preferences, but not many. I am sure I will be fine with whatever you plan."

"Excellent," she said. "Although that doesn't get you out of the planning process, Hermione. But we can talk about it later, I suppose."

"As I haven't even received a contract from the intended groom yet, I think later is a terrific idea." She knew she sounded petty, but she was still nervous about what exactly the contract would say. It wasn't that she didn't trust Draco, but more the fact that the contract likely had to adhere to certain rules set forth by the backwards ancient customs of Pureblood society, as well as those demanded by the Dark Lord. She felt like she would be signing her life away.

"Testy this morning," Narcissa said lightly, before picking up her fork. "It won't be long, Hermione."

"What do you know?"

"I know that your breakfast is getting cold. Eat, Hermione. We can discuss this all at a later date; you did buy us some time if you'll recall."

xXxXxXx

The rest of the morning with Narcissa had been rather typical, and they'd moved their discussion from weddings to their usual political and society discussions, which was perfectly fine with Hermione. She really hadn't ever been one of those girls who dreamed of her wedding day, so it was all well and good that Narcissa would essentially take over the planning, leaving only minor decisions for her to make.

She was currently laying on the bed reading a book she found on Finn's shelf, though she couldn't keep her mind from wandering. She was going stir crazy. It wasn't a surprise, really, and she was amazed it had taken so long, but all the same, she was losing her mind being stuck here. It had been four months that she'd been stuck here now. Four months, and so much had changed. _She_ had changed. It wasn't anything she could quite put her finger on, but it was there nonetheless.

Shaking her head, she tried to draw herself out of that line of thinking. It wouldn't help her right now and she didn't need to let herself get lost in the darkness that would accompany those thoughts. Draco would be by in about an hour to pick her up, and she supposed she could start getting ready now, but honestly, it didn't take that much time—she had at least a half hour to kill before she would start that process.

Hermione glanced down at the book in her hands again, reading the first sentence again. And, yet again, she just didn't care. Sighing, she flung the book onto the bed behind her and made her way across the room, intent on having a nice quick soak before she started getting ready in earnest.

Dropping some of the scented salts Finn bought her into the tub, Hermione gingerly lowered herself into the hot water, relaxing her body and letting her tense muscles loosen. Beginning to learn muggle fighting had been interesting, to say the least. It was obviously very physical, and her body was protesting the new ways she was abusing it. Finn was right, though. She could already tell it would come in useful at some point. She obviously wouldn't have cause to use it very often, but if she were in a close quarters duel, it would certainly be an unexpected advantage.

She really had to figure out something to do to keep her from going crazy here, but for now, Hermione closed her eyes and let her mind wander.

She wondered what the Order was doing now, what Harry was doing. She assumed by now that he would have gone back to them. She loved Harry dearly, but she really didn't think he would be able to find the remaining Horcruxes on his own, and he would know that. At least she hoped he would. What was his plan now? Did he have one?

Dammit, she really needed to find a way to figure out what was going on here, and pass that information on to the Order. Now that Draco wasn't in school anymore, the little contact he did have with them would be gone. They needed to figure something out, but it felt near impossible to do anything while in this stupid manor. Everything she did was watched. She knew the wards were keyed to prohibit her apparition, or even just leaving the property unless it was pre-approved by the Dark Lord. Draco might have more leeway than she did, but it wasn't like he could just disappear to the Order all the time anyway, since Professor McGonagall was the only one who knew about him, for everyone's protection.

It was depressing, but likely her best chance at helping the Order now was going to come once she had the horrid Mark on her arm. She could only hope that she would be given more freedom once she was marked, and then she'd finally be able to _do_ something.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Hermione looked up to see Finn walking into the bathroom, eyebrows furrowed and clearly doing his best to keep his eyes on her face.

"You realise Draco will be here in ten minutes, if not sooner, right?"

"Oh, fuck," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Of _course_ she lost track of time, how fucking typical. "Go away you perv, I need to get ready!"

Finn laughed and shook his head, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Seven minutes later, Hermione was holding her towel tightly against her body as she ran across the room to the wardrobe, searching through it for a dress to wear. She'd managed to get her hair halfway decent and disillusion her scars before adding some makeup charms and calling it good.

"Sometimes I'm convinced you forget you're a witch."

"What? Finn, I don't have time for your nonsense right now." She was rifling through the endless hangers of dresses, trying to decide what to wear tonight.

Finn laughed, clearly amused with her rushed panic. "Never heard of a summoning charm, then?"

"Oh shut up, Finn. I don't know which one I want!"

"The red one, Hermione. Pick the red one."

Hermione laughed at that, turning to face him, one hand on her hip, the other reaching up to tuck the towel end back in. "What is with you and that colour?"

"What? It's a good colour, especially on you. Just trust me on this one." He crossed the room and gently pushed her aside, reaching in and pulling out the red dress.

Hermione looked at the dress and shook her head. "I am not wearing that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's way too revealing and it doesn't look good on me," she said, crossing her arms.

"You haven't even tried it on! Plus, I guarantee Draco will love it."

"I can't wear that, Finn. It's too—I'm not… I can't wear that."

"Go try it on. If it looks awful you can wear some frumpy dress that you choose. Just try it on."

"You are insufferable, Thorfinn Rowle."

He grinned at her, shoved the red material in her arms, and pushed her toward the bathroom. "Yes, yes, yes, I'm awful. Now go try it on."

Just as she'd thought, the dress fit like a damn glove. She felt like Sandy in those black pants that had to be sewn on her for the scene in Grease. There was no way she could wear this. Maybe if she were working as a model or an escort… she laughed at the thought and was reaching back to tug the zipper down when she heard a knock at the door to the room, and Finn loudly greeting Draco.

"Dammit!" she hissed. How was she supposed to change now?

There was a knock at the bathroom door, and Finn poked his head in, an innocent expression on his face.

She glared at him.

"Wow, doll. Yeah, you're wearing that."

"I am most definitely _not_ wearing this, Finn! Get me another dress!"

Finn reached into his pocket and pulled something out, which he threw at her. Halfway through the air to her, it began to enlarge, and by the time Hermione caught it, she realised it was her cloak that he'd shrunk.

"No, Finn, another dress, not my bloody cloak! You were fucking planning this, weren't you? You're such a damn Slytherin. No, get me another _dress_!" Hermione was whisper-shouting at him, but he chuckled, winked, and shut the bathroom door. The bastard.

She hadn't even brought her wand in with her, so she couldn't transfigure the dress into something else, either. Dammit! Biting her lip, Hermione looked at her reflection again. The dress really did look good, it was just e out of her comfort zone.

Sighing, Hermione slid the cloak over her shoulders, fastening it all the way down. She walked to the bathroom door, and with one last calming breath, she opened it to walk into the main room.

Finn was grinning like a madman at her. Draco had his back turned, reading something on the bookshelf, so Hermione took the opportunity to send an obscene hand gesture Finn's way before she crossed the room, clearing her throat.

Draco turned to her and smiled, holding a hand out to her, which she took. He gently pulled he into him, leaning down and kissing her softly. Her body relaxed at the touch, melding herself into him and letting the kiss deepen.

They were interrupted by an "Ahem," from Finn, who was still grinning wildly. "Alright, you two, enough of that. Off you go. I'd say have her back by ten, but we both know that won't happen, so have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do, and _don't_ get caught."

Draco laughed, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "You ready?" he asked.

"Just need to grab shoes," Hermione said, turning and grabbing a pair out of her wardrobe.

Setting the black heels on the floor, she sent a pointed look toward Finn, daring him to say anything. The man was in for it when she got back, that was for sure.

He smiled innocently at her, and for once didn't try to change the colour of her damn shoes. Hermione joined Draco at the door after picking her wand up off the table, linking arms with him and turning to say goodbye to Finn.

Smirking, he winked at her and said, "Goodnight you two."

Draco laughed, and Hermione let him tug her through the door. Before she reached back to close it, however, she pulled her wand out, sending a strong stinging hex at Finn, who yelped and then began laughing hysterically.

"What was that for?" Draco asked as she quickly pulled the door closed.

"Nothing he didn't deserve," she said.

He laughed and led her down the hallway. "I don't even want to know."

Hermione followed him through the house, surprised when he led her into the kitchen. He brought her to the counter near the stove and kissed her gently before turning and rummaging through the cupboards. He pulled out a pan and spatula, and then turned to the fridge, pulling out eggs, cheese, and several other things in little containers.

"Are you cooking?" she asked, surprised.

He turned and sent her a dazzling smirk. "I am, indeed."

"I wasn't aware you could cook," she said, laughing.

"I'm sure there are lots of things about me that you are unaware of, Hermione." He began cracking the eggs and mixing them, adding them to the pan and sprinkling cheese over it. "Want me to take your cloak?"

Hermione bit her lip, cursing Finn in her mind, before shaking her head. "No, it's ok, I'll leave it on for now."

Draco looked a bit confused but didn't comment further on it as he continued to work on the eggs.

Hermione sat herself on the stool at the counter, content to just watch him work. Somehow he made cooking a simple omelette look absolutely sexy, and she was currently imagining the things they could be doing if they didn't live in a house with a dozen other people.

"You ok there?"

Hermione shook her head of her obscenely inappropriately fantasies and smiled at him. "Just thinking," she said.

He smirked at her. "Looked like some pretty good thoughts."

"Oh, they were."

"Care to share?" he asked, bringing over two plates and setting one down in front of her. He took the seat on the other corner of the counter, facing her and handing her a fork.

Hermione smiled at him and looked at her plate. "Maybe later," she laughed. "This looks delicious, thank you."

"It's just eggs, Hermione." He chuckled and began to eat.

Smiling to herself and shrugging, Hermione quietly said, "No one's ever made me eggs before."

"So what's the plan?" Hermione asked after a few moments of silent eating.

"Have you seen the library yet?"

Hermione's eyes lit up and she nearly choked on her food in her excitement. "No!"

Draco smiled. "I'll take you, then."

Ten minutes later, Hermione was standing in a library that made her want to cry. She didn't even know where to start. There were books lining every wall, there were bookcases placed throughout the room, there were even glass cases that she assumed were temperature controlled—the books in those cases looked older than any books she'd ever seen before.

She heard Draco chuckle behind her, before he quietly said, "I'll be over there."

Turning, she saw he was pointing to a wingback chair by the fireplace. In two steps, she was standing directly in front of him, raising her hands and cupping his face. She kissed him, sweetly at first, but it quickly turned into something more heated. Her hands slid down to his chest, gripping the material there. His moved to cup her arse, holding her tightly to him.

Hermione was breathless when he finally pulled away, a burning look in his eyes. He kissed her once more, chastely, on the mouth, before turning her from him and swatting her on the arse.

"Go look at the books, else I can't be held responsible for my actions."

Laughing lightly, she walked toward the nearest wall of books, calling over her shoulder, "Who said anything about being responsible?"

She heard him growl under his breath, but the next time she peaked back at him, he was settled into the chair, reading a book of his own.

Hermione must have spent two hours lost in the tomes held in the Malfoy Library. There were some amazing titles here—scary, but amazing. Books that she'd seen mentioned as references in the Restricted Section, books that she'd never heard of, books that she never dreamed even existed. There were even a few that she dared not touch, heeding the labels saying they were cursed.

She did find several books that she was hoping to take back to the room with her: one on Legilimency, one on blood rites and bonding ceremonies, and a few on dark curses. When she finally made her way back to the chair by the fire, she found Draco sitting in exactly the same position as she'd last seen him in. She smiled to herself as she approached, taking the moment to look at him. He really was handsome. Especially like this—relaxed, at ease.

Unable to help herself, she carded her fingers through his hair once she was close enough. He didn't look up from his page, but he did raise his hand up to grab onto hers, bringing it down and pressing a light kiss to her palm that sent shivers up her spine.

A moment later he closed his book and looked up at her. Raising an eyebrow at her little stack of books he stood and tilted her hands so he could read the titles. He then pulled his wand out, tapping the stack and shrinking it until the books were small enough for him to fit into his pocket.

"Best not let anyone see you carrying these around," he said, winking and then offering her his arm.

She smiled, letting him lead her to the doors and lead her down the hallway.

"Where are we going?" she asked when she realised they weren't taking the turns that would get them back to Finn's room.

"I rather thought we could continue what we started in the library," he said, smirking down at her.

That was enough to set the butterflies in her stomach in motion again. She followed him along down the halls of the manor until they reached his bedroom, which he opened to her and then promptly shut and warded the door of.

She was in his arms in a matter of seconds, just as eager as he apparently was. They resumed their kiss, this time more frantic and impassioned. Hermione wondered if she should be worried about how quickly everything had moved for them; if she should be concerned that their relationship was likely more physical than anything else—but then he nipped that spot just under her ear, and she let the rest of her conscious thought fade away.

He pulled back at her gasp, smiling down at her in a way that sent jolts through her limbs. He lifted his hands up and began unbuttoning her cloak, peeling it from her shoulders and pushing it to the floor. His eyes grew wide as she stood before him, wearing the red dress that left little to the imagination. His breath rasped out and she could see the hunger in his gaze as he looked at her. His eyes travelled slowly down her body, taking her in before he stepped forward and greedily pulled her into him.

His mouth was demanding and urgent as he kissed her with a merciless need. His hands weren't cautious, tentative, or gentle when they found her breasts, pinching and squeezing her nipples until she was gasping. She reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it carelessly to the floor, his fingers only pausing their manipulations for a moment before they were right back at her again. Her own hands were sliding down the bare expanse of chest now in front of her, equally as relentless in their pursuit to touch, to feel.

When his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot under her collarbone she moaned, letting her head fall back. His body pushed against hers, urging her to step backwards until her back hit the wall. She had a moment to catch the heated look in his eyes before the hand at her hip was turning her around, ghosting up her body along the side, and then both his hands were running down her arms, stopping to pin her hands to the wall above her head. He firmly pressed her hands into the spot they rested, and she knew he meant for her to remain still. Her breath was coming in short pants as his hands made their way to her back, tugging her zipper down and then roughly pulling the dress until it was pooled at her feet. He began a relentless trail of kissing, sucking, and nipping across her shoulders, up her neck, down her back… He was anything but gentle as he dug his fingers into her hip, holding her tightly and pressing himself into her. Feeling his length against her, she firmly pressed her arse back, grinding into him, and eliciting a deep growl from the man behind her.

He reached around her front, his fingers quickly finding the now soaked material of her knickers, and pushing the fabric aside, he began to rub circles around her clit.

"Fuck, Draco," she moaned, breathing heavily.

"Yes, that's the plan," he murmured, eliciting a sharp gasp from her as he thrust his fingers inside of her.

Far too quickly, he was withdrawing from her and backing away slightly, the only remaining contact between them being their joined hands. He led her to the bed, wasting no time in removing first hers, and then his own clothes.

He surprised her by turning their bodies so that when he lowered them to the bed he was on his back, and she was atop him. It was a welcome surprise, however, and she quickly realised that straddling him was most definitely one of her favourite positions. Not only did she have complete control over the moment, but she also had a perfect view of him below her.

"Hermione," he said raggedly. "If you keep moving like that I'm not going to last."

Smiling to herself, Hermione grasped his length and guided him to her centre, slowly easing herself back until he was fully seated within her. They groaned simultaneously at the feel of their joined bodies, and Hermione began to ever so slowly pull back up until just the tip of him was still inside her, and then rocking her hips back and slowly bringing herself back down. She teased him several times, carefully raising and lowering herself upon him until she couldn't continue the agonising pace.

She ran her hands flat along his chest, swivelling her hips in a figure eight motion, before leaning down and kissing him. His hands travelled up along her sides and back, exploring and teasing the skin with differing sensations: the soft caresses of his fingertips and palms, and the sharper pulls and scratches of his fingernails. Each time he would switch between the sensations her body would shiver in response. His fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling them in a way that nearly had her over the edge. She had no idea how he was able to tease her so long when he was the one in control—it was taking everything in her not to begin the furious pace that would have her coming in minutes.

When he bucked his hips up to meet hers she gave up any last hopes of prolonging the teasing and let herself simply enjoy the feelings. Moaning, she pushed herself upright, grinding against him as she moved faster and faster. His hands continued to pluck her nipples, and she let her head fall back as the last of her restraint left her.

Hermione cried out, gasping as the orgasm rocked her body. Her back arched, her muscles clenched, and she wasn't entirely sure the sounds she made were human. Her pace slowed as she came down from the high, but one look at Draco's face had her moving with a purpose again. He continued to buck his hips into her, and she felt the familiar pressure building again. His hands moved to grip her hips, roughly holding on as he pushed up into her, seeking his own relief. Hermione reached her hand between their bodies, desperately rubbing herself as Draco hissed, his body jerking with his release. Hermione swivelled her hips again, rubbing harder as she chased her own impending orgasm. She knew she was seconds away from that relief when Draco's fingers found her nipples again. Letting her head fall back as the feeling built, Hermione frantically increased her pace. She was so very close to dissolving into her pleasure when the door to Draco's room burst open, startling a shout from both her and Draco. He flung the sheet around her body as he pulled her down and behind him, putting himself between her and the intruder.

The intruder, who happened to be a shocked and nervous looking Thorfinn.

"What the actual fuck, Rowle! Get the fuck out!" Draco growled, the threat in his voice clear.

"Sorry, I really am," he said, grimacing and turning around in an attempt at affording them some privacy. "I've just come from a meeting with the Dark Lord. We have a mission."

The clear anxiety in his tone sent a cold chill through Hermione's body, effectively banishing the last remnants of her pleasure.

Clearly irritated, Draco shook his head. "Why would he send you to collect—"

Both men simultaneously grunted and brought their right hands up to cover their Marks. Hermione hadn't realised that she'd yet to see anyone actually summoned in her time at the manor, and judging by their reactions, it clearly wasn't a pleasant experience.

"Why have you come to collect me, if he's summoning anyway?" Draco said, finishing his earlier question.

"I'm not here to collect _you_."

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Draco shouted, ripping the covers off and hastily grabbing at the clothes strewn on the floor, throwing her knickers and dress at her when he came to them.

Hermione was staring at him without a coherent thought in her mind as he pulled on his shirt. She watched as he looked up at her, his expression softening. She absently thought he was approaching her rather like someone would a wild dog—slow, easy steps, low, calm tones as he spoke.

"Get dressed, Hermione." Though his voice was gentle, it was easy to pick out both authority and panic in the undertones.

Without conscious effort, her body began moving of its own accord. She put her knickers back on and slipped the dress back on. She pulled her hair up when Draco turned her around to zip her up. He briefly squeezed her shoulder in what was an absolutely useless gesture of support. Hermione was far too nervous now for any comfort to pierce through.

Moving from her, Draco walked toward his closet, pulling out a stack of black fabric. "What do you know, Finn?"

Finn turned and sent a brief glance to Hermione before focusing his attention to Draco. "It's a minor mission; retrieval. You, me, Carrows, Travers, and Dolohov," he said, pausing before he added, "And Hermione. A parish in Foxton, South Cambridgeshire. The wizard there has information, and we're to bring him back."

Draco's eyes narrowed sceptically. "Six people are needed for that?"

"No," Finn said. "Two people are needed for that. Six people are needed to make sure nothing goes… wrong."

With a nearly inaudible sigh, Draco guessed, "Two for the actual mission, you and I to make her comfortable and willing, and two more to make sure she's in check, without compromising the mission."

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hermione asked, her surrounding finally coming back into focus.

"Two people for the actual retrieval, Draco and I to in order to more easily persuade you on your first mission—The Dark Lord isn't a stupid man, he knows that when adrenaline and fear are involved it can be hard to… cope—and then two additional people to make sure that Draco and I don't treat you with kid gloves."

"It's a Hermione-watch squad," she deadpanned, feeling cold and nervous.

"Yes," they both answered.

"We have to go," Finn said, gesturing to Hermione. "We will meet you there, Draco."

Draco walked to Hermione and held out her cloak. "It's going to be alright, Hermione."

Biting her lip, she took the cloak, fastening it on and trying not to hyperventilate as she turned, stepping toward Finn and the door. She let out a startled gasp when Draco grabbed her forearm and pulled her back almost roughly, kissing her in a hard, desperate way. He let her go when Finn cleared his throat after a moment.

"We really don't have much time," he said. "See you soon."


	49. Watch My Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Alright, sorry for the hiatus! We have officially moved house, and are starting to get settled in. I have done almost zero writing the past few weeks, but am hoping to find a new coffee shop to write in and get back into it!
> 
> The latter portion of this chapter has a few PoV switches, which I don't love, but I felt it was necessary to have the scenes from other characters views. I've had some of the scenes from this chapter planned out since the very beginning, and I'm so ready to finally share them with you!
> 
> Lastly (I know this is becoming a long A/N, sorry!) I want to thank you guys, from the bottom of my heart. I cannot express enough how much your reviews, and comments, and kudos mean. Sending love -
> 
> XOXO, L

 

**CHAPTER FORTY-NINE  
Watch My Back**

Hermione followed him in absolute silence, their pace almost a run. It took her several moments to realise that they were headed back to Finn's room, but she was too anxious to ask him why.

When they made it inside, Finn immediately went to her wardrobe, yanking the drawers open and rifling through the contents.

"Get undressed, Hermione," he ordered over his shoulder, pulling items that she couldn't yet see out of the drawers.

Hermione vaguely recognised the clinical symptoms of a panic attack while she stood, unmoving, watching Finn walk to her, dropping a stack of what looked like all black items onto the bed. Accelerated heart rate, sharp pains that accompanied each of her shallow breaths, a deep pressure in her chest, depersonalisation that was giving her an out of body experience… Everything was slowed down, as though time was suddenly submerged in molasses. She was watching things happening, but she wasn't feeling them.

"Merlin, fuck, alright, Hermione, take a breath. It's going to be fine, but we don't have time for this. We have to _go_."

She knew Finn was undressing her, she understood that she was currently standing in nothing but her knickers in front of him as her dress fell to the ground, she was there enough to lift her arms up as he pulled a sports bra on her; she just couldn't care. When he struggled to get the bra on properly, she surfaced enough to begin dressing herself. She mechanically put on each item he handed her, noting absently that she'd been right; all black. Once she was dressed in a cotton tee shirt and trousers, he handed her a set of robes she'd never seen before and left to dress himself as she finished putting them on.

When she looked up, her breath caught, and everything sped up again, seeming to catch up to her all at once, and causing her heart to stutter as she came to. He was standing in front of her, dressed and ready as he surveyed her, and she quickly realised what the last item he'd handed her had been. She looked down at herself, feeling slightly ill at the sight of her body covered by a set of robes she knew to be identical to Finn's.

Death Eater's robes.

"Finn, I can't—"

"You can, Hermione. It will be fine. As far as first missions go, this one is cake. Retrieval, quick and simple. There probably won't even be any fighting. The guy lives in a parish, for Merlin's sake. Take this," he said, handing her a mask.

That actually did make her feel a little better. All they had to do was bring him back. This was basically a job shadow, really. A trial run. Show up, don't freak out, make it back. That was it. Reaching out, she gingerly took the silver mask. Her fingers traced over the intricate patterns on the front—she knew they would be unique to this mask only, to _her_ mask.

"When did you—"

"They've been here for several weeks now," he said. "Ready?"

Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

"Alright. Let's go."

This time they really were running down the hallways and through the manor until they reached the meeting room—the ballroom that Hermione had first been brought into. The little team was already assembled, everyone wearing their robes, masks in hand, standing in a half circle around the Dark Lord. He smiled when they arrived, gesturing for them to join the group.

"Miss Lestrange, good evening," he said with a smile as they approached. "I assume that Mister Rowle has filled you in a bit?"

"Yes, my Lord." She knew it was pure luck that her voice wasn't wavering as she spoke. She met Draco's eyes briefly as she took her place among the others.

"Excellent," he said, shifting to address the whole group again. "Silas Whittaker. That is your target. I will question him once you've brought him here."

Everyone seemed to reply at once. "Yes, my Lord."

With a nod, the Dark Lord turned from them and walked from the room.

"Alright, let's go." Yaxley, the oldest and clearly the leader, said, fixing his mask to his face.

Finn took Hermione's mask from her hand and placed it on her face, doing the same to his own just after.

"Hermione, take my arm," he instructed.

Doing as she was told, she had only a moment to watch the faces around her begin to disappear before she felt a familiar yet entirely foreign feeling tugging at her. She had hardly a moment to adjust to it before she was blinking her eyes, now staring at an old, stone parish in what she could only assume was the village of Foxton.

"It's a little different," Finn whispered, gently removing her hand from his arm. He smiled at her. "Dramatic entrances and all that."

"Warning would have been nice, Finn."

Hermione took a breath as the rest of the team arrived and got their bearings. The method of apparition was certainly striking—all black smoke and silence. She had to push her curiosity to the side, however, as they began to move toward the parish. She stayed next to Finn, walking briskly toward their destination. Draco silently moved to her other side, briefly squeezing her hand, dropping it before anyone noticed the small gesture of comfort.

The Carrows silently left the group, circling around to the back of the building, while the rest of them approached the front doors. Everything was dark, and there didn't seem to be any signs of activity whatsoever. Once they were inside the parish it all progressed rather quickly. They easily found the bedrooms, only checking two before finding the sole occupant. Draco, rather anticlimactically, said "Stupefy," stunning the man in his sleep.

Yaxley walked across the room, taking hold of the man, and grunted at the group. "Make sure there isn't anything else here, then come back." He disapparated, leaving them in silence again.

"Easy as pie," Alecto groaned, twirling her wand in hand and clearly disappointed by the lack in action. "The back is clear, nothing of interest."

"Well this wasn't even fun," Dolohov said, also noticeably disappointed. Hermione jumped when she felt his hands at the nape of her neck, and she made to move away but was tugged gently back by her hair. "Thought you'd get something at least a bit more entertaining for your first mission, love."

"What are you—"

He gathered her hair into his hands, and Hermione realised as he spoke what he was doing. "You should always keep your hair back for missions, baby. You never know when it's going to get in the way." He deftly braided her hair back, placing the thick plait on her shoulder when he was done. His hands ran lightly down the length of her arm, sending unwelcome chills of repugnance through her body.

"I—okay," she said, doing her best not to run from him. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, and really, rather smart as well. She still felt queasy at the thought of his fingers in her hair, though, and hoped to never repeat the experience. She reached up and fingered the end of the braid, which landed just past her armpit and absently thought about how much her hair had grown in the past few months.

"Let's check the rest of the building and get the fuck back," Draco said suddenly, his voice not hiding his irritation in the least.

"Yeah, I'd like to get back to my dinner," Amycus grunted, following his sister out of the room.

They checked the rest of the parish quickly, and Hermione found herself taking Finn's arm again, preparing to go back. The whole mission had taken no more than fifteen minutes, and it was nowhere near what she'd been imagining. It was quick, easy, and no one had been hurt. She hadn't even used her wand.

"You're gonna have to teach me this," she said to Finn with a smile.

He laughed, placing his hand over hers where she gripped his arm. "So the little lion enjoys an intimidating entrance, does she?"

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"It's almost exactly like regular apparating, but you need to filter your goal through the Dark Magic, rather than ambivalently through your magic in general. It's different at first, but it's pretty easy to get the hang of. It's much easier if you can direct it through the Dark Mark, but it can be done without one. We'll practice at the manor later, see how far you can get room to room." He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes, only to be met with the telltale tug and uncomfortable sensation of this style of apparition.

She was not at all prepared for what they arrived to.

The room that had stood empty when they left was now filled to the brim with people. With Death Eaters, each wearing their robes, masks in hand. The noise level was almost deafening as everyone seemed to be speaking at once. One look at Finn told Hermione that he had no idea what was going on, but she could tell it made him uneasy. He took hold of her hand as they wound toward the front of the room, squeezing between groups of people. They stopped when they were near the front of the gathering and Finn started speaking to Yaxley.

Hermione sighed in relief when she glanced over her shoulder and saw Draco coming up behind her. He quickly closed the distance between them and placed his hand on the small of her back.

"What's going on?"

Hermione was about to answer that she had no idea, but Finn was facing them again and spoke instead. "Yaxley said it's something to do with the Ministry. Everyone but our team was summoned and—"

He was cut off when a throat cleared, quite loudly, and sent a hush over the crowd. The group parted down the middle, and Hermione saw the Dark Lord making his way to the front of the room.

"What we have been waiting for has finally come to fruition," he said, his voice booming with the obvious use of the Sonorus charm. "The wards around the ministry have been disabled, meaning we have a brief window of time before they will be able to get them up properly again. Apparate directly into the atrium, and go from there. Those of you with targets and previous instructions will make fulfilling those your primary task, while the rest of you will go in for backup and distraction. Make them regret their foolish resistance, make them realise their effort is for nought. When they go home tonight, to lick their wounds and ponder their defeat, I want them to begin to feel the anxiety of doubt—the realisation that they cannot, _will not_ win, and the culmination of their efforts will end in bloodshed and failure. Make them regret the moment they decided to take a stand against the Dark Lord!"

The end of his speech was met with a roar of shouting, applause and battle cries. Hermione stood paralysed next to Finn, still gripping his hand tightly, taking no more comfort in Draco's hand at her back. She had less than a moment for her fear to settle when he spoke again.

"No one will remain behind, we show our true force tonight," he said, pointedly looking from Finn to Hermione, and causing her heart to drop into her stomach. "Leave now! Let fear be their only constant tonight!"

Within another round of shouts and acclimations, the figures around the room began to disappear into the smoke of apparition.

"I'll take her!" Draco shouted over the uproar, his hand moving from her back to grip her arm tightly.

Finn nodded and set his shoulders, disappearing before their eyes in a cloud of black smoke. Hermione's heart was beating so rapidly it was in jeopardy of breaking through her chest and her breaths were shallow and tight. She looked at Draco, and his face was grim and white.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. He took her mask from her hand and placed it to her face, bringing her hood up to cover her hair, before doing the same with his own. "Stay with me."

She wanted to insist that she couldn't do this, and was not going to go, but she was instead met with the now familiar tug of dark apparition.

She opened her eyes to utter chaos. They were in the atrium, which was complete pandemonium. The scene around her was like nothing she'd ever witnessed before. She'd been in battles, yes, but nothing on this large of a scale. She could hardly tell where the spells were coming from as they flew across the room in every direction.

Without warning, she suddenly found herself thrown to the ground, the breath knocked out of her.

Draco was shouting at her, his body laying atop hers. "For fuck's sake, Hermione! Pay attention!"

She felt the rubble of the wall behind her spraying down over them where the spell that had narrowly missed her collided with brick.

"I'm sorry, I—" she stammered, not quite able to form the sentence.

"Get your bloody wand out and pay attention!" he growled, getting off her and moving to stand in front of her, giving her a quick moment to do as he said.

Once she was on her feet again, everything seemed to snap into focus. She pulled her wand out, agitated with herself at her carelessness. Whipping her head around, she took in the scene before her, this time with a clearer head. Spells were flying everywhere, shouts and screams filled the space, and the smell of blood permeated the air.

"Just watch my back, Hermione," Draco said over his shoulder.

She watched as he scanned the room, and sent several stunners out across the space. He hit all but one of his targets, and began to move, staying close to the wall which gave them the advantage of not having to watch for spells coming from behind

"I don't understand, who are you—" she asked, cut off by a red stream of spellfire.

"Stunned the Death Eaters I could get away with, and the Order member who was about to be hit with something worse," he grunted, continuing to make his way around the room.

Hermione nodded, and aimed her own wand out at the room, readying her shield for a moments notice. She found herself glad that all the Death Eaters were wearing their robes—it made them easy to pick out, and the Order members stood out more as well. At least she wouldn't accidentally hit someone she hadn't meant to. She was afraid she was being watched tonight, even through all the chaos. This would be a test, just as much as the retrieval mission earlier had been, and she had to make sure she passed.

A sudden explosion hit the wall behind them, narrowly missing her shoulder, and flinging them both forward with the force of the blast. She crawled toward Draco, summoning an overturned table to give them cover.

"Draco, this is insane!" she shouted over the noise.

"I know, I know," he said, shaking his head. "Just stay with me and try not to get hit!" he glanced around the table and sent a stunner off before standing and sprinting off across the room.

Hermione followed suit, staying as close to Draco as she could, and doing her best to keep her eyes open, stay alert, and not get hit. The first time she made eye contact with an Order member and was met with a nasty looking purple curse sent her way, she had a moment of confusion before she remembered she was entirely covered in her Death Eater robes and mask. No one would recognise her in this.

She kept her actions to shield charms and the occasional stunner aimed at saving an Order member, either by stunning them or stunning their attacker when she could get away with it. She did her best to appear as active as possible, without actually really doing much. It felt rather like she was a chicken running around with its head cut off, but it turned out all the training with Finn was paying off.

When the statue they were hiding behind was hit with an especially strong blast, Hermione found herself flung several feet backwards, hitting her head on the stone floor. Black specks briefly blurred her vision, clouding her sight, and her head pounded with the ache of impact. She shook her head, bringing a hand up to touch her forehead where she was met with a wet, sticky warmth. She had only a moment to worry about the injury, as well as the location of her mask before another blast hit the floor only inches from her abdomen.

Scrambling, Hermione got to her knees and whipped her head around, looking for Draco. He had apparently been propelled in the opposite direction when the blast hit and was entirely out of sight now. She felt panic rising as her eyes scanned the crowd, unsuccessful in their search for him.

She realised she had to move when another curse singed the hem of her robe, and she reluctantly got to her feet, considering her next move as she sprinted, ducking and weaving, across the room. Her shield easily deflected several curses as she looked for a place to regroup among the chaos; she needed to find Draco again. She managed to silently stun a Death Eater she didn't recognise before he finished the Avada she heard on his lips and turned toward the victim she'd just saved who stood nearly ten meters away.

She was met by the shocked green eyes of Remus Lupin, staring back at her across the room. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she recognised her professor, and after a moment of frozen disbelief, her feet moved of their own accord toward him. She saw him say her name, but she couldn't hope to hear it over the noise of the battle. He began making his way through the crowd toward her as well, stunning and incapacitating anyone who made to interfere.

Hermione couldn't even form a thought as he got closer, anticipation clouding her mind. He was within shouting distance when she saw another familiar figure to her left. The colour drained from her face as she watched a man, an Order member she did not know—shout at a bleeding man on the floor.

Finn's wand was laying out of reach, too far away for his blood covered hand to hope to grasp, as the man towered over him. She could see his blood-stained shirt, his chest clearly wounded badly. She quickly changed direction, moving on fast feet toward Finn. As she drew closer, she heard the furious voice of the man who's wand was trained on Finn.

"We aren't supposed to use Unforgivables, and killing is always a last resort, but Death Eaters killed my Amelia, and I can't let that go unpunished! She was EVERYTHING!" he screamed. "I can't let that go unpunished, I can't let her murder go unavenged! No one will really care if there is one less of you, anyway. You won't have any information that we can't get from someone else, you're nothing."

Hermione watched in horror as the man steadied his wand, aimed at Finn's heart, and a panic hit her at the expression on Finn's face. He'd given up—he closed his eyes to die.

The man growled, his wand arcing as he pushed his magic toward Finn. " _Avada_ —"

" _Sanguis Mortem_!" she screamed, the curse leaving her wand before she had even a moment to consider.

With the roar of the battle continuing around them, the curse wouldn't have been noticed even though she quite literally screamed it. What was noticed, however, were the blood, guts, and body parts now covering everything within a two-meter radius of where the man had stood just moments before. Hermione herself felt the warm, sticky fluid covering her, and she could smell the metallic tang of blood, mixed with the foul stench of a dismembered corpse.


	50. The Edge of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> **Beta Love:** Dreamingofstars85
> 
> **A/N:** Guys. I am so sorry that updates are so sporadic right now! The move has really kicked my butt in regards to writing. I have to find a coffee shop here that I can go to regularly again! I really miss writing and updating regularly!
> 
> Also, this chapter has been incredibly aptly named, as a few days ago my appendix decided that 28 years with me was quite enough, and demanded to jump ship. I've just come home from hospital yesterday, and am actually pretty hopped up on painkillers… so hopefully this chapter is alright. I had it written already, and have just been editing it today, which has taken me **hours** as opposed to twenty minutes. LOL
> 
>  
> 
> A few quick notes this chapter:  
> 1\. **This** is the chapter with PoV switches at the end… oops!
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. There was some confusion in how Hermione was recognised by Remus last chapter. She lost her mask in the explosion that separated her from Draco. There was just one quick line about it, and it seems a lot of people missed it.  
>  **"She had only a moment to worry about the injury, as well as the location of her mask, before another blast hit the floor only inches from her abdomen."**
> 
>  
> 
> Alright, let's see how she gets out of this one and how she copes! As always, your reviews are life-giving, and I love you all!
> 
>  
> 
> **Xoxo, Luce**

 

**CHAPTER FIFTY  
The Edge of Death**

Finn's eyes shot open, searching briefly before landing on her, his relief obvious even as she saw him wince in pain. Hermione ran toward where he lay, his body dripping with fluids she dare not think too closely about. Falling to her knees before him, she began casting every healing spell she could think of, trying desperately to mend him enough that he could walk. His colour was draining, and blood was pooling around his body. Whatever that man had done to Finn before Hermione got there was killing him.

Her ears were still ringing from the blast, so it took her a moment to realise that Finn had spoken to her. "Herm…ione," he grunted, pain seeping into his voice.

"It's going to be ok, Finn. I'll get you out of here," she said, fighting back tears. Unable to stop the flow of blood from the wound on his chest, Hermione clamped her hand down over the gash, putting as much pressure as she could.

Finn stiffened suddenly, grabbing her arm and failing in his attempt to manoeuvre himself in front of her.

"Hermione?"

The sound of that familiar voice left Hermione feeling suddenly panicked and even closer to hysteria. She turned, training her wand on the man who stood almost within reach, staring down at her with a confused look of horror and disgust.

"Remus," she croaked, "I—"

Something changed as she spoke, and the room around them began to crack with the sudden sounds of Apparition. The Order was leaving. It took Hermione a moment to realise why, but she soon spotted the Dark Lord, making his way across the atrium, easily killing anyone who dared to get in his path.

Remus, his expression unchanged, held out his hand and spoke urgently. "Stand up, Hermione. We have to go."

"Hermione," Finn groaned from behind her. One look at him and Hermione knew he was on the edge of death.

"I'm sorry, Remus," she said, shaking her head. "I can't."

"No! Hermione, what are you saying? Come with me, now!" he growled, his confusion at her refusal etched onto his features.

She looked around the room where fewer and fewer Order members remained. The Dark Lord was almost close enough to see them, and Hermione knew he would not spare Remus. With a hard look in her eyes and a cutting tone in her voice, she looked back to the man who stood before her. "You need to leave, Remus. Now."

He gave her another moment, shaking his hand as if it would encourage her to take it. Beseeching her to flee with him. When she made no move to go, his expression changed. Hermione knew that look would haunt her for years to come.

"Don't do this, Hermione. Don't do this to Harry," Remus pleaded in last time.

She had to turn her face from him, unable to watch his disappointment and sorrow any longer. A second later the faint pop signalling his departure cut through the din around them, and Hermione did her best to push the interaction from her mind. Finn needed her now.

She continued to cast healing charms on the injuries she knew she could heal, or at least temporarily stave off. Healing magic was much more draining than everyday spells and she quickly found herself panting at the effort it was taking to keep Finn from bleeding out in front of her.

"Victory is a glorious thing," the Dark Lord's voice boomed around the room, seeming to fill every nook and cranny of space with his presence. "Tonight, we have made considerable progress toward our goals, and our ultimate success is soon to follow! We shall celebrate in due time, but for now, there is still work to be done. I want reports from those who had specific tasks, everyone else, tend to the wounded, clean yourselves up, and prepare for a debriefing tomorrow."

Hermione looked up as he ended his speech, too edgy and distressed to have really paid much attention to what he'd said. He met her eye and smiled, a proud and satisfied look that sickened her, and he approached where she knelt beside Finn.

"You did good, child. I am impressed. Take him back to the manor, someone will be able to heal him there."

Hermione nodded and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, knowing there wasn't time to waste. She focused, praying to Merlin and God and any diety that would listen, and knowing the Dark Lord was still standing there watching her, she apparated out of the atrium in a puff of signature black smoke.

Relief flooded her for the briefest of moments when she opened her eyes, and both her and Finn were back at the manor, sprawled on the ballroom floor, before she began to panic again.

"Help! Help!" she screamed into the ballroom which was rapidly filling with people once more. A mediwitch she had never seen quickly ran to her, opening her potions kit and flicking her wand at Finn.

"Back up child, let me do my work," the woman said briskly as she began to read the diagnostic floating above Finn's body. His pale, bleeding body.

Hermione backed up, falling from her squatted position onto her rear and using her legs to push her backwards, giving the mediwitch room to work. Her breaths were coming in pants as she watched the woman try to save Finn's life.

It took several unidentified potions and some very intricate looking wand work accompanied by the singsong chant of a healing spell, but after a few minutes, Finn's colour began to return, his breaths evened, and he finally opened his eyes.

The mediwitch turned to Hermione and handed her five potion bottles filled with a swirling grey liquid. "Every three hours through the night. He should be fine once those are finished," she said, standing and brushing her bloodied hands on her skirts.

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely.

The woman nodded before turning and seeking out another patient.

Hermione looked at Finn again, and there was no way to hold back her tears. She flung herself at him, wrapping her hands around his neck and crying into his shoulder. "I thought you were going to die, you bastard!"

Laughing, and then wincing at the pain it caused him, he spoke with a gravelly voice, "You can't get rid of me that easily, doll."

She only just held herself back from smacking his shoulder. Smiling at him, Hermione stood up, and offered a hand, gently helping him up to standing as well. The room around them was mostly chaos, with people still apparating in and out, bringing the injured to the mediwitches, as well as several groups of people, who appeared mostly unharmed, loitering about and revelling in their victory. She desperately searched the crowd for Draco, afraid to even think what it might mean that he wasn't back yet.

Finn placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and whispered, "He's a strong fighter, Hermione. He'll be fine." He squeezed her shoulder lightly and said something about checking to see if anyone had seen Draco, and walked from her toward a busier part of the room. Hermione continued her search of the room, praying to Merlin that she would see that flash of white blond hair.

Regrettably, one of the sets of eyes she met as she scanned the room belonged to none other than Dolohov, who seemed to have been watching her. Hermione quickly looked away but knew the damage had already been done.

"Hello, baby," he said as he approached, grunting between the words, obviously in pain, but grinning broadly at her.

"Antonin," she said with a nod of her head. Her eyes briefly met his but quickly began to scan the room again. _Where was Draco?_

When he reached out and cupped her face, she couldn't help her immediate reaction of pulling away sharply.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, clearly not bothered by her recoil.

Shifting her gaze back to him she was surprised to see the genuine concern etched on his features. "What? No," she said, shaking her head.

Dolohov's eyes followed the line of her body, down to her feet and back up, taking her in. He seemed surprised at first, and then as his eyes made their way back up to meet her own again, turned on. Hermione couldn't help but look down as well, and she gasped at what she saw.

Her robes had fallen open to her navel, and every bit of material she wore appeared to be wet. Holding her hands up, she struggled to choke back bile. They were covered in red—not even a speck of her skin showing through. Examining her robes again, she realised the substance covering them was blood. Not her blood, but the blood of the man she had effectively exploded.

The man she had killed. The Order member. She had killed an Order member.

In defence of a Death Eater.

Her hands began to tremble, shaking so much that she quickly dropped them to her sides, trying to hide her reaction. She looked up at Dolohov again, and the clear arousal he was showing her made her want to retch. She opened her mouth to say something and found she hadn't a thing to say. Whatever she had meant to say was caught somewhere in her throat, and her brain had already forgotten what it tried to get out.

The blood seemed to rush to her head, pounding and scrambling any thoughts she may have had until the only word running through her mind was _murder_. And then that was it—all the blood rushed from her head and into her stomach, leaving her feeling decidedly cold, numb and dizzy. Her breathing increased until her chest began heaving and she started seeing spots. Knees growing weak, she reached out and gripped Dolohov's arm, trying hopelessly to steady herself and not fall—she couldn't make a scene here. She couldn't blow her cover.

_Murder. Murder. Murder._

Her thoughts were screaming at her as her senses seemed to fade away, leaving just the one word. The one thing that she had done. The thing she had become.

_Murderer._

She hardly registered Finn's voice, harsh and cold, as he approached. "What the fuck did you do, Dolohov?"

"Fuck if I know! She was fine, and then she wasn't. I don't know what happened."

Finn gently pulled her hands from where they still gripped Dolohov's arm, and he placed a palm to her stomach. "I think she might have been hit, and is going into shock from blood loss. I need to get her back and heal her."

That was odd, she thought. She didn't feel like she'd been hit. She felt like her soul had been ripped out of her body, like she would never recover and never be warm again, but she didn't feel like she'd been hit. She was almost positive she hadn't been, actually. She felt like she could be dying, but she was not injured. The coldness had settled into her chest, her stomach, her heart.

"Shit, doll. Just hold on," Finn said, looking down at Hermione and knowing he had to get her out of there. Scooping her up into his arms, he glanced around the room, glad to see that no one was paying them any attention.

"Shouldn't you take her to the mediwitches, then?" Dolohov asked, placing one of his piggish hands on her knee where it draped over Finn's arm and motioning to the other side of the room where the healers were set up.

He quickly pulled her away from Dolohov, glaring. "No, I have potions from the mediwitches already, and you know how good I am at healing. She'd prefer privacy for this anyway," he said, already turning from the man.

Hermione was starting to move her mouth, whispering something into his chest where she'd buried her head. Fuck, he had to get her out of here.

Without waiting on a reply from Dolohov, Finn turned and walked as quickly as he could from the room, trying his best not to create a scene and just slip out undetected. It was bad enough that Dolohov had witnessed what he did.

Several paces down the hallway, things started to quiet down. Almost everyone was still in the ballroom, tending to injuries and riding that post-victory high. When Hermione began speaking a little louder, he thanked the gods he'd gotten her out when he did.

"I can't find Draco," she whimpered, clutching her hands to his chest. "He was going to kill you, and I couldn't let him kill you. I can't find Draco, where is Draco?"

"Shhh, doll, it's alright, I've got you. We're almost there, just hold on," he said, doing his best to soothe her.

"He was going to kill you," she cried, tears now streaming down her face in earnest. "He was—I couldn't let you die, Finn. I couldn't let you die, but what have I done? What have I done? I killed him, I killed him, I killed him."

Her voice rasped as she repeated the mantra just above a whisper. He wasn't sure how she kept the stream of words coming when she was nearly hyperventilating, but she kept repeating them, over and over, breaking his heart with each new utterance. They were only a few doors away from their room now; he just had to get her into the privacy of the room, then she could break down. He couldn't let anyone see her like this, though.

When he heard heavy footfalls coming up quickly around the corner, he increased his pace. He had to get her out of sight before someone saw.

"Finn!"

The sound of Draco's panicked voice slowed his pace, and he turned to see the man running toward them, looking worse for the wear but not injured so much as worried.

"What happened? Is she ok?" The worry in his voice was evident, and when he finally got close enough to get a good look at her, the agony he was feeling was so clearly etched in his features that Finn knew it would have ruined everything if he'd found her in the ballroom with everyone there watching.

Draco was breathing heavily as he reached out and touched her arm, his eyes taking in her shaking form. "Whose blood is that? Is she hurt? Is that her blood?!" He was nearly shouting in his panic, and Finn realised it wasn't just Hermione he had to get to the privacy of the room.

"She's ok, just—" he turned from Draco and started the last few paces to the bedroom. "Come on!"

Draco quickly followed and got to the door just before he did, opening it and letting him through with Hermione before following and closing it tightly. Finn brought her to the bed, setting her down gently and helping her to sit up. She was still muttering, nearly unintelligible now, and tears continued to stream down her face.

"Finn! So help me, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on right now or I am going to lose it! What happened? We got separated, I turned around and she wasn't there! She was just gone!"

"That's because she was saving my life," Finn said gravely. He slowly brought his hand up to her cheek, cupping her face, and hoping to Merlin it wouldn't startle her. "Hermione, doll, you're ok now. We're in our room and Draco is here. It's ok, doll, it's ok."

xXxXxXx

Draco watched as Hermione stared blankly at Finn's chest, not seeming to register that he was even speaking to her. She kept moving her lips as if she were trying to speak, but he couldn't understand what she was trying to say. Moving forward, he bent his knees a little, putting himself eye level with her. "Hermione?" he asked in a whisper.

When she didn't respond, he straightened to look at Finn. "Tell me what happened."

"I'm not entirely sure… I was duelling and some fucker snuck up behind me… disarmed me before I even saw him coming, and… she saved my life, Draco," Finn said, eyes still locked on Hermione, looking overwhelmed and a little pale.

"I don't understand," Draco prodded, shaking his head slightly. He was about to push further when Hermione seemed to come back into focus. She lifted her head up and looked at him, clearly only just realising that he was there.

"Draco," she said in a breathy sigh of relief.

"I'm here, Hermione. I'm here," he said, kneeling in front of her and taking hold of her hand, placing their intertwined fingers in her lap.

"I was…" she looked at him, seeming to be searching his eyes for something. "I couldn't find you. After the explosion," she said softly, her bottom lip quivering. "I couldn't find you. You were gone, and I couldn't find you. I looked and looked but you were gone, and I had to move." Her voice began to rise as a panic seemed to spread through her.

Rubbing the back of her hand softly with his thumb, he shushed her quietly. "It's alright, it's alright."

"I looked for you, but you were gone," she continued. "And then I saw Remus, and gods, Remus was there! And he saw _me!"_

 

Her hands were shaking now, and Draco felt like his heart was being ripped apart at the seams. Seeing her like this, it was worse than a crucio.

"And then I was walking toward Remus, and he was coming to me, and I don't know, I don't know what I was thinking. But then I saw Finn, and that man was about to kill him! He was going to kill him for something he didn't even do, and I couldn't let him die, I couldn't. And then, I don't know what happened. He raised his wand a little higher, and he started speaking, and I heard him, and I knew he was going to kill Finn, and I just, I couldn't let that happen. I didn't let that happen."

She exhaled sharply and looked down at her hands where they were laced with his own. She disentangled her fingers, and brought her hands up near her face, looking them over, and Draco knew she wasn't seeing what was in front of her eyes—she was seeing whatever she'd seen earlier tonight.

"I killed him," she whispered, looking up to meet his gaze again. "He was with the Order, and I killed him. I could have gone home, but I killed him. For a Death Eater. I killed him, I killed him, I killed hi—"

She began sobbing in earnest, her whole body shaking as she wept. He looked over at Finn, and it was clear the man wasn't sure what to do for her. He still looked a little pale himself, actually, and Draco was just noticing the blood stains on his friend's clothes.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

Finn shook his head. "The mediwitch healed me up, I just have some potions to take for the night."

"Well you look like shite, you should probably get some sleep. You look like you're about to pass out."

"Feel like it, too," Finn said, rubbing his chest where the worst of the blood stains were. "Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah, we'll be alright," Draco said as he stood up and then bent to pick Hermione's sobbing body up. He carried her across the room and into the bathroom, starting the shower with a flick of his wand, dimming the lights so they weren't overwhelming, and whispering whatever soothing words he could think of.

He knew what it was like, that first life you took. The first one you took on purpose, and not in defence of yourself. It wasn't a feeling you could forget. And it wasn't something you could ignore or set aside for later. It was one of those feelings that demanded to be felt. All you could do was work through the pain.

So that's what he had to help her do.

He gently set her down in front of the shower, holding her steady until he was sure she was able to stand on her own. With slow, gentle movements he unfastened her robes, letting them drop to the floor and then moved to crouch in front of her, untying her boots. He lifted one leg carefully, pulling her boot off before moving to the next and doing the same. He undid his own boots, kicking them off when he stood and then throwing his robes to the floor.

She looked almost catatonic, standing there—still silently crying, her eyes unfocused, and her breathing just shallow pants mixed with ragged gasps. Taking her hand, he stepped into the shower and eased her in with him, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. Their clothes were soaked within a minute and the water ran red down the drain. Draco watched as she lifted her head up, eyes closed, letting the water beat down on her face. He lifted his hands and gently rubbed her cheeks and forehead where blood had dried and crusted there.

She looked at him, blinking through the water, and her breath hitched. "I killed him," she said. She sounded so lost.

"I know, love. I know."

"I want to say I didn't mean to, or I didn't want to, but that would be a lie. He was aiming his wand to kill, and I couldn't stand by and let Finn die."

"No, you couldn't have," Draco agreed, cupping her face with his hand and stroking his thumb across her cheekbone.

She looked at him a moment, searching his face for something, though he wasn't sure what. And then she started to cry.

Heavy sobs wracked her body, and when she wrapped her arms around her middle, it looked like she was trying to physically hold herself together. Closing the distance between them, Draco pulled her into his chest and firmly held her there, knowing what it was like when you felt like your body was coming apart at the seams. He held her as the water poured down over them, as she continued to cry and mumble about what she'd done, as she started to shake and tremble. She was gasping for air, unable to breathe properly in her panic. Her hands came up, tearing at her clothes, grabbing the soaking material and trying to pull it from her body by force.

"Shhh, Hermione, stop, stop," he said, pushing her hands down. He quickly reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the side before unbuttoning her trousers and helping her to step out of them.

When her knees gave out, he gently lowered their bodies to the floor and pulled her into his lap, wiping the hairs from her face, and kissing the top of her head.

It could have been minutes or hours, but eventually, her crying lessened and she was left hiccuping and inhaling deeply trying to steady her breathing. Draco ran a soothing hand along her spine, hoping that she'd finally cried herself out.

"Can you stand?" he asked after she'd been silent for a few minutes.

When he felt her nod her head against his chest, he gingerly removed her from his lap and helped her to stand with him. Once he was sure she wasn't going to fall over, he began unbuttoning his own soaked shirt and trousers, tossing them aside along with his boxers. Sighing, Draco gently pulled Hermione's knickers off, turning her around and pulling off her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Tugging the elastic from her hair, he unplaited it with a bit of difficulty and summoned the shampoo. He poured a generous amount into his palm, working it to a lather and began rubbing it into her hair. He rinsed her curls until the water ran clear and then repeated the process with conditioner, tenderly raking his fingers through her hair and getting the knots out before rinsing it. If you'd asked him before this moment if he thought he could stand in the shower naked with a girl he… well, a girl he cared so deeply for, and not find himself harder than a rock, he'd have said no. However, as he soaped up her body, washing away the dried blood and dirt that hadn't come clean yet, and watching as she silently shook, unable to cry any longer but still so full of emotion she couldn't function, sex was the furthest thing from his mind. All he wanted to do was to end her pain. Once she was cleaned, he quickly used the soap and shampoo on himself, rinsing and then turning the taps off.

He stepped out of the shower first, surprised to see two towels waiting for them, as well as what looked to be a pile of fresh clothes. Summoning the towels, he unfolded the first one and quickly wiped the water from his skin before tying it around his hips. He then took the second towel, and reached for Hermione's hand, pulling her to stand on the rug outside the shower. He gently dried her off, starting with her body but quickly moving to her hair, since it was a sopping mess that kept dripping after he'd dried her body and causing him to have to start the whole process again.

He walked over to the pile of clothes, surprised to see his own set of pyjamas and boxers sitting there—Finn must have gone to his room and grabbed them. He pulled on his clothes, and then set to work on Hermione, helping her step into her knickers first, and then pulling an overlarge tee shirt over her head. He assumed it was one of Finn's, but didn't question it.

"I'm not very good with the drying charms," he said apologetically as he waved his wand at her hair. Her curls instantly turned wild, frizzing out at every direction. He simply summoned the elastic he'd pulled from her hair earlier, and did his best to fight them into submission at the nape of her neck.

Holding her hand, he walked them back into the bedroom, unsurprised to see Finn sitting at the table nursing a glass of firewhisky. The man raised his eyebrows, and Draco knew he was asking about Hermione. He shrugged his shoulders slightly and continued to lead her to the bed.

Finn stood from the table and went to the bathroom, turning on the shower again and closing the door. Draco helped Hermione crawl into the bed, and slid in behind her, holding her close to him. She immediately closed her eyes and he hoped she would fall asleep quickly—she needed to rest now, they could deal with everything else tomorrow.

After a minute though, her whispers broke the silence.

"Who am I? I killed someone without even thinking about it, I just killed him. I didn't stun, or petrify, or use any number of other non-lethal spells I know. I did it as painfully as possible." She opened her eyes and looked at him then, and he could see the pain as deeply as he could hear it in her voice. "I can't stop hearing him scream," she said, before turning over and facing away from him.

The bathroom door opened then, and Draco didn't quite know what to say, so he simply brushed a hand along her arm, hoping she would understand that he was there for her, that he'd do anything for her.

When Finn pulled the covers back at the other end of the bed, Draco sighed and gently began to get out of the bed.

Finn looked over at him and shook his head. "No one is going to notice anything tonight, mate. Might as well stay."

Draco thought about it for a second and decided he was right. No one would notice much of anything tonight, and really, he supposed he didn't give a hippogriff's arse if they did. He settled himself back down into the bed, spooning Hermione as closely as he could, holding her tightly to him. He quietly whispered _Nox_ and closed his eyes.

xXxXxXx

Hermione lay awake, cuddled into Draco's chest, as thoughts continued to race through her mind. She felt absolutely bone tired and cold. The cold was seeping from within her and felt like it was going to infect everything around her. She desperately wanted to be alone but knew she needed to be exactly where she was. Her mind kept trying to think about what happened, to rationalise it, and then berate her for doing what she'd done. She knew that what she'd done—that murdering a man in cold blood—had changed her, irreparably. There was no going back now. She wondered what Remus thought about her now, who he would tell, what he would tell them. Would he tell Harry? And what would Harry say, what would he think of her… She couldn't keep her thoughts from circling around those questions.

Even after crying for what seemed to have been hours earlier, Hermione found her cheeks were wet again with tears, and she did her best to stay silent and still so as not to disturb the men on either side of her.

She brought her hand up to wipe at her wet cheeks, blinking her eyes to try and clear them of the moisture. Finn was facing her, his eyes open and watching as she lay there, silently suffering. He didn't say anything, for which she was thankful, he only gave her a sad smile. Reaching out, Hermione grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered, bringing their hands up and kissing her knuckles gently.

That was all she needed to start the waterworks again. She cried silently, not even trying to stop the tears as they flowed. She simply let herself cry.

She cried over her capture and imprisonment. She cried over the forced marriage and bonding that was seemingly inevitable. She cried over Dolohov's invasion of her body. She cried over missing Harry and her parents. Over the life she had taken. Over the Dark Magic that was now pulsing through her veins. But mostly, she cried over losing herself.

Somewhere along the line, she had become unrecognizable. She could feel the Dark Magic lingering beneath her skin now; a constant presence. She could call it out just as easily as she could cast a Lumos. And it called to her, too. It was always there, in the back of her mind, begging to be brought to life.


	51. Not Going to Leave You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85
> 
> A/N: And we enter Part 3. Thank you for your patience, guys. Sending love to you all.
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

**CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE  
Not Going to Leave You**

Hermione came into consciousness well before she opened her eyes. She couldn't tell if she had slept for an hour or a day; her body felt dog-tired and abused. After several minutes trying to ease herself back into that state of unconsciousness where she could pretend everything was ok, she sighed and accepted that she wasn't going to be getting any more sleep. With slow, quiet movements, she disentangled herself from both Draco's _and_ Finn's limbs. It seemed that during the course of the night she had unconsciously sought each of them out for comfort, and they had both obliged. Gently peeling Draco's arm from around her torso and sliding her leg out from underneath his, and then slipping her hand from Finn's grasp, Hermione shimmied herself down the bed between their bodies, doing her best not to disturb their sleep.

She managed to make it to the bathroom without waking either man, shutting the door silently behind her before standing in front of the mirror, examining herself. She looked the same. Her hair was its usual frizzy mess, her skin was the same pale cream, her eyes the same shade of honey brown they've been for years. Everything was the same, but it was all so different. _She_ was different.

Sighing, she reached up and tugged the elastic from her hair. It was a tangled mess since she didn't deal with the knots last night, and now that they had dried it was ten times worse. Once she freed the last hairs from the elastic, she undressed and headed into the shower, globbing heaps of conditioner into her hair to try and get it untangled. She hadn't been paying attention to how much it had grown in the last few months, but it was well on its way to her arse. Hermione shook her head and scoffed at herself; Finn had certainly rubbed off on her language choices.

After conditioning once more for good measure, Hermione mechanically finished up the rest of her shower, and then dried herself off, standing in front of the mirror when she was done.

Her body was bruised and sore. She hadn't noticed it so much yesterday, but the fall from the blast had really done a number on her. Her ribs were already purple and she had a large bruise on her arm from where she'd landed on it. She tenderly poked the bruise crossing her ribs and winced.

Standing alone in the quiet of the bathroom and seeing the physical reminders of the battle yesterday only served to remind her of what she'd done, and she wasn't ready to face that music yet. So instead, she decided to do another uncharacteristic thing she'd learnt from Finn. Summoning a pair of black leggings and a long sleeve black tee shirt, as well as her trainers, she began dressing herself. She stood in front of the mirror and dried her hair with her wand just enough so that it wasn't dripping and began to braid it. Halfway down, her fingers brushed her neck and triggered a memory, unpleasant as it was. She immediately began undoing the braid she had just done in disgust, remembering how Dolohov had possessively braided her hair before the mission.

And that was it. Somehow that memory replaying meant that Hermione couldn't look at herself in the mirror now without absolute disgust with herself. She was changed, but somehow she looked the same—with her bruises and scars covered up, she looked like the innocent girl she had been, and not the murderer she was. An angry heat filled her belly as she thought about how much had really changed. Nothing was the same anymore. _She_ wasn't the same anymore, and there was nothing she could do to go back. And she was mad at herself for letting this happen.

Hermione glared at her reflection for a moment longer before making a snap decision. She grabbed the bottle of hair potion on the counter, dousing her curls in it before going over them with her wand, straightening it as best she could. Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked at herself one last time. Staring at her reflection and knowing she couldn't see the same, innocent girl she used to be staring back, Hermione raised her wand.

xXxXxXx

Breathing in deeply, she filled her lungs with the crisp, fresh air of spring. The sun was just beginning to rise, its orange glow illuminating the treetops and landscape around her and giving a glossy finish to the lake on her left. She had quietly snuck out of the room and through the manor, only finally realising what time it was when she stepped outside and into the early morning darkness. And then she had run.

She ran until her legs ached and her lungs burned. She ran until the tears that had begun to fall were dried onto her face. She ran until she felt as if her body would go no further, and then she had stopped. She'd stopped and stared off into the distance of the morning, taking in the trees, and the lake, and the birds, and the sunrise.

The sun rose that day, just as it had every other day in her life, and just as it would continue to do so every day that she had left. As she stood and watched the orange glow begin to rise, bringing light to everything that had been dark, Hermione laughed as she felt the truth in that saying: _It's always is darkest before the dawn._

But the dawn always came.

And that was where she was at right now. She was in the dark, waiting for the dawn. And she had let herself wallow there. It was time for her to take a more active part in whatever was happening. From the beginning, she had planned on turning her capture into something that could be good for The Order—into her becoming a spy—but so far that had not been happening. She'd had no information to give The Order and no real way to get it to them anyway. She needed to start planning. She would figure out how to become useful and how to stop being a victim. She clearly would not get out with her morals intact, but she would get out of here _alive_ , and that had to be enough.

If the Order wouldn't accept her after this was all said and done, she would deal with that when the time came. For now, she could be an asset, and so that is what she would do. Taking another deep breath, Hermione felt calm for the first time in a long time. She had a tentative plan, and she knew the consequences. She had _known_ that she would have to do things that made her uncomfortable or downright sick before, but now… now she accepted it.

As she let the feeling settle over her, Hermione leant down, stretching her sore legs and wiggling her fingers as she did so; it was a clear morning, but it was cold. She hadn't thought to bring a jacket and now that she was standing still she was really starting to feel the chill. With one last look over the lake, Hermione turned and began to jog back toward the manor. Her mind was reeling with ideas and plans by the time she made it back to the manor, but she wasn't quite ready to face Finn and Draco yet. The sun had risen enough that the garden was fully basked in the early morning light, and Hermione detoured toward the roses. She actually really loved it out here. The garden, really the whole outdoor area, was spectacular, and it was easier to pretend the horrors that took place inside the house were non-existent out here.

As she was bending down to smell a low-growing peach-coloured rose, Hermione heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel and quickly spun around to see who was there.

"Miss Lestrange, I am surprised to find you out here so early this morning."

Hermione gently bowed her head and smiled. "I woke up early and wanted to go for a run, My Lord."

"So many forget the necessity of physical exercise, but in a duel of equally _magically_ matched opponents, it will be the wizard or _witch_ ," he added with a sly smile, "that is physically fit who comes out on top." He walked closer to where she stood and cupped his hand around one of the roses she had just been admiring.

"I must say I am very pleased with your performance yesterday, Hermione. You have really proven yourself and I always reward those who please me."

Hermione smiled, not letting the pit of nervousness she was feeling in her stomach show. "Thank you, My Lord. I only did what anyone else would have."

"From what I hear, you are the reason that Mr Rowle is still here with us, and for that, you will be rewarded. I admit, at first I was unsure, but you eliminated an Order member last night to save him. I am proud to call you one of us now. It is time for you to take my Mark, Hermione. You will be a valuable asset to our cause."

Hermione's breath hitched, and she made sure her smile grew even wider. She curtsied down low, even though it probably looked ridiculous in her jogging clothes. "My Lord, I am honoured. How soon can we plan this?"

The Dark Lord chuckled and gently cupped her cheek, patting slightly. "Soon, child, soon. I am getting ready to leave for a few days, so we will schedule it for when I get back."

Hermione let her face drop, showing her disappointment. The Dark Lord chuckled again. "Aren't you an eager one," he said fondly. "I have several things to do before I leave, but they must be taken care of during the daytime. Shall we plan for tonight instead?"

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach, but again, she didn't let it show. "My Lord, thank you."

"The ballroom, 8 pm sharp, Miss Lestrange. You will ask Mr Rowle to accompany you, and you will bring your wand. He will be able to advise you on what to wear. After tonight, you will be permitted to have your wand at all times and will be expected to be more active in your role here."

Smiling, Hermione curtsied again. "Yes, My Lord."

The Dark Lord gave her a slight nod and turned, calling over his shoulder, "Oh, and Miss Lestrange?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"That hair suits you," he said with a smirk before leaving her in the garden.

Hermione stood unmoving except for the hand that reached to feel the ends of her now-short locks, steadying her breathing as well as her thoughts. She would be getting the Dark Mark… tonight.

She had a feeling neither Draco or Finn would be pleased with this new timeline, but as she thought about it, she realised this was probably for the best.

Hermione made her way back into the manor and toward her room. She silently twisted the knob, unsure if the boys were still sleeping and not wanting to wake them if they were. When she pushed open the door it was quickly clear there had been no need for the silence.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" a dishevelled Draco shouted, shutting the door behind her and pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly for a moment, before pulling away slightly to look intently into her face. "Are you alright?"

Hermione sighed. Honestly, she didn't know _how_ she was, but at least she wasn't falling apart at that moment. "I'm ok," she said, nodding. "I'm ok."

Draco sighed deeply, still looking intently at her. He held her close for another moment before letting her go. "Where did you go?"

"For a run. I needed some time to think."

Finn chuckled, relaxing into a chair at the table. "I told you you'd like it one day."

Draco ran a hand down her hair and squinted his eyes at her. Hermione mimicked his movements, feeling the short hair that stopped a little above her shoulders. "Do you like it?" she asked.

He smiled, cupping her face again and bringing his lips to hers. "Beautiful," he said.

"He means you look bloody hot," Finn added with a short laugh.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. "I needed a change. And I hate to admit it, but you're right, running has definitely grown on me."

Finn laughed again smugly. "Told ya," he said.

Hermione turned toward him and raised an eyebrow, putting a hand on her hip. He laughed even more and blew a kiss her way. Sighing, Hermione walked to the table and grabbed the bottle of firewhisky, taking a long drink.

"Uhh," Finn said, taking the bottle back from her. "What is that for?"

"I ran into the Dark Lord on my run."

Draco walked up beside her. "And?"

Hermione made a face. "Umm…" she bit her lip, stalling. Both Draco and Finn were looking at her expectantly. "He gave me a date," she finally said, not meeting their eyes.

Silence.

Ten seconds, twenty, thirty. Finally, Draco asked quietly, "When?"

Hermione sighed again. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. She looked at Draco and said, "Tonight."

She was met with complete silence for over a minute before Draco abruptly turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Hermione was absolutely startled by his reaction and a little hurt. She stared at the closed door for several long moments before Finn called her over to him.

He straightened out in the chair and patted his leg, gesturing for her to sit down. She rolled her eyes but did as he suggested, cuddling up to him and laying her head on his shoulder. Finn sighed and wrapped an arm around her. "He isn't mad at you, you know. He's just pissed that this has to happen. Give him a minute to cool down and wrap his head around this. He was really set on finding a way out of this for you."

"That was never going to happen. There was no way out of it once I got here."

"I know that, and you know that. I think Draco knew that, too, but he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want you to have this life, Hermione."

She sighed, closing her eyes. She didn't have a response for that. She didn't want this life either. Not at all. But this was what she was dealt, and she had to find a way to make it through. To make it work.

They sat like that for a good ten minutes before Finn spoke again. "I really do like your hair, doll. It's very _chic."_

 

Hermione laughed and sat up to look at him. "Thorfinn Rowle, have you been reading Witch Weekly again? What do you know about being chic?"

He laughed too and gently pushed her off of his lap. "Stop making fun of me and go shower, you cheeky witch. We have a lot to discuss before tonight. What time?"

"Eight."

"Ok," he said. "Ok." Nodding, he prodded her in the back, pushing her toward the bathroom.

xXxXxXx

Hermione showered and dressed, drying her hair with her wand but not using any straightening potions this time. It was frizzy with no product in it, and it was much shorter than it had been when straightened; the curls stopped just below her chin. She liked it though—it was exactly the change she'd been looking for.

When she came out of the bathroom, Finn was sitting on a sofa that hadn't been there before. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he said, shrugging. "It's more bloody comfortable than those damn chairs. I don't know why we didn't add this months ago."

Hermione chuckled and plopped herself onto the sofa beside him, curling her legs up into her chest and resting her chin on her knees.

Finn was smirking at her.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Nothing, I just really do like your hair. Especially curly. It's so much shorter that way."

"Yeah, well hair tends to get shorter when it curls," she said dryly. "I didn't exactly take that into account this morning when I hacked it."

Finn laughed and shrugged, summoning the firewhisky and placing it between his thighs while he summoned two glasses. He poured one and handed it to Hermione before pouring his own. "Cheers, doll."

"To what?" she asked.

"I haven't a bloody clue, but you're going to want this stuff coursing through your blood for tonight, so I figured we could start now." He clinked his glass to hers and downed it, waiting for her to do the same before he refilled them both. "Now, please tell me you've been keeping up with your Occlumency? He is definitely going to have a shuffle through your mind tonight, and you need to be fully prepared for that."

Finn spent the next hour plying Hermione with more booze and relentlessly continuing to dig through her mind, trying to break her shields.

He did not succeed, which Hermione was grateful for. She had come too far to fail now and that would surely be the end for her.

Draco came back around noon with sandwiches for lunch. He apologised for storming out but didn't try to explain himself. He remained quiet and clearly bothered, seeming almost angry, but Hermione was relieved to just have him there. She needed his support right now, even if he was reluctant to give it.

By five in the evening, Hermione was starting to get nervous. More than nervous, she was frightened. She had asked Finn to go over exactly what was going to happen during the _ceremony_ , and he agreed to tell her, but not until a half hour beforehand. She assumed it was because he didn't want her stressing about it the whole day, but that only made her more nervous. She had no idea what to expect, aside from pain, and that in and of itself was enough to set her stomach churning.

Hermione was pacing in front of the couch while both boys sat and watched her. It was currently half past six, meaning she had just an hour and a half left. She was nervous and ready to get it over with. The waiting was rough. She suddenly stopped and turned to face Draco, searching his eyes.

"Do you think the Order will ever forgive me? Will Harry?" she asked, sadness cutting through her question.

Draco sighed and watched her a moment before answering. "I don't know," he said. "They never forgave Snape, but he wasn't an Order member _first_."

"It would be fucking ridiculous if they didn't, doll. It's not like it's your choice," Finn said.

She sighed and nodded. "Where is Snape?" she asked.

"He was sent to France after Dumbledore. A reward or something," Draco said. "Not sure how much of a reward it really is, since he is having to lead in place of the Dark Lord over there… I definitely wouldn't want that responsibility… One wrong move, one mistake, and it's all on your head. No thanks," Draco said with a chuckle.

At seven-thirty exactly, Hermione turned and stared expectedly at Finn, who sighed and crossed his arms.

"Let's get you dressed and we can talk about it after, alright?" he said, standing and walking toward her closet.

"You said—"

"After you get dressed, Hermione," he said, not letting her finish. His voice was unusually stern, taking her aback. She closed her mouth and followed him to her wardrobe, watching as he murmured a revealing spell and pulled out a dress from the back that she didn't recognise. Her mouth dropped open as he turned and held it out the simple white garment.

"He thinks the white is symbolic," Finn said with a roll of his eyes. "It's like a virginal bride being offered to him or something."

Hermione was speechless but took the dress from him. She held it a moment before heading to the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door. She slipped into the dress, charming her knickers and bra white so they wouldn't show through. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt foreign. The dress was plain, white with sleeves that stopped at her elbows, and a hemline to her knees. It was fitted but not tight, and had a modest scooped neckline.

She took a moment to pin her hair back from her face before walking back out into the room. Both Draco and Finn were utterly quiet and it was unsettling. She could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

"Well?" she asked, impatient.

They were quiet a moment longer before Draco stood and walked to her. "I have to go," he said. "Everyone else has to be there at seven forty-five."

"Oh, ok," she said quietly.

He gripped her hips and pulled her close, holding her to him for several long moments. When he finally let her go, he leant down and kissed her forehead before looking into her eyes. "My feelings won't change, Hermione. No matter what, I'm not going to leave you," he said quietly.

Hermione nodded, unable to form words to reply. His goodbye sounded too ominous to dwell on, but she couldn't help but wonder what he meant by ' _no matter what.'_ He gave her one last look before crossing the room and opening the door, leaving her and Finn in the silence.

After a moment, she turned to Finn. "So?" she said, feeling even more nervous than before.

"Sit down, Hermione."

She did as she was told, and Finn spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the initiation and ceremony she was about to endure. By the time he was finished, Hermione stood up, walked to the bathroom, and promptly threw up into the toilet.


	52. Marked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85
> 
> A/N: And we've made it to Part 3! As of right now, I believe there will be 5 parts total. This chapter has been a long time coming, so I hope you all enjoy it! ... in a deranged, unbalanced and dark sort of way I guess, HA!   
> xoxo, Luce

**PART THREE**

**-Into the Darkness-**

  
 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO  
Marked**

It was like a prisoner's death march. That's what the walk from their room to the ballroom felt like. They left at seven fifty-three exactly. Ten minutes seemed too long, and five too short. Finn said this would give them just enough time to get there and take a breath or two but not enough time to linger and stress and panic. Hermione had let out a short, bitter laugh when he'd said that. She wanted to say she was already panicking but kept that to herself.

When they reached the doors to the ballroom with two minutes to spare, Hermione was shaking and near hyperventilating. Finn pulled her into his chest and held her tightly, running his hand lightly down her back. He said a quiet _Muffliato_ before turning his head to look at her and bringing his hands to cup her face.

"I know this sucks," he whispered. "But you have to pull yourself together, Hermione. You have to get control of yourself. Pull your shields up and just get through tonight, alright? In a few days, we will be away from here, and we can plan and figure things out, but for now you have to get a grip."

Hermione nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath, and shaking her hands out a little, trying to dispel her nerves. It didn't work, but she was able to control the shaking. She took a moment to make sure her mind was fully occluded—shields up and as strong as they possibly could be—before turning her body to face the door and squaring her shoulders.

The doors silently swung open then, and Hermione's breath caught as she saw the meeting being held inside. Voldemort was standing at the back of the room facing her, and the rest of the Death Eaters were clad in their menacing black attire, sans masks, standing in an almost semi-circle around him. Their backs were all to her and no one had noticed the doors open, or if they had, none had taken their attention from the Dark Lord to see who had arrived.

The Dark Lord finished what he was saying—she hadn't a clue what it was as she had been too nervous to pay attention—and smiled. He'd looked right at her briefly, before sweeping his eyes around the circle of followers.

"Friends," he said. "It is with great pride that I inform you of our purpose for tonight's meeting." He lifted his arm toward Hermione, beckoning her into the room. There was a slight murmur as heads turned and finally spotted her, and the members near the middle of the semi-circle parted on both sides to let her through. Hermione walked with a courage she did not feel, passing between the line of Death Eaters and straight to Voldemort. He still had his hand outstretched toward her, so she lifted her own and grasped it, following his lead as he turned her slightly so she faced the group.

"Miss Lestrange has been with us for some many months now, and in that time, she has proven her worth quite significantly. Most recently by saving Mr Rowle's life." He smiled at the group before him, and Hermione watched as Finn filled the gap created when the circle parted, taking his place within the ranks. "I find myself joyous tonight as I prepare to Mark her as one of us forever."

The mumbling started again and Hermione could pick out a few voices who were displeased with this information, though most of them were nodding and smiling in agreement. She watched as Bellatrix curtsied before stepping forward and looking at her master.

"My Lord, are you sure this is the right time?" she asked. "She hasn't been—"

The Dark Lord cut her off with raised hand and sharp look. "I am quite certain in my decision, Bella, and I do not need you to question me on it. Miss Lestrange is ready, and _we_ are ready for her."

"But—"

"Bellatrix," he said sternly. "Do not make me tell you again."

Bella whimpered slightly, but backed up into her place in the circle and remained quiet.

"I realise some of you may be… questioning… my decision. However, it is not a decision I have made lightly, and its one I'm quite sure about. As you all know, we will have her initiation prior to her Marking, and simply put, the Mark will only take if she's true to our cause."

Hermione's breath caught.

Her heart sped up about a million times faster, and she felt the panic rising again. _True to the cause?_ What did that mean? The Mark would fail if she wasn't sincere? Finn hadn't mentioned that at all, and now she was sure this was a terrible idea. She somehow managed to keep her expression calm and clear of the dread she was feeling. She gave herself a moment so as not to look obvious before searching out Finn's eyes. He very subtly nodded once to her, and while Hermione was sure it was meant to be reassuring, she didn't feel even slightly better.

_Well_ , she thought, _one way or another, a part of her was dying tonight. Either her soul or her body.  
_ Hermione let herself look around the circle of people surrounding her, finally spotting Draco at the end on her right. He smiled encouragingly at herand nodded once.

"Bella," the Dark Lord said, "Would you go fetch the creature so we may begin?"

"Yes, my Lord," Bella said with a curtsey before turning and apparating on the spot.

Hermione felt sick. She knew what she had to do to survive, but that didn't make it any easier. It didn't make her any more ok with it. Pushing the fear and disgust down, she took a moment to breathe and readied herself for what was to come.

Bellatrix arrived back a moment later, her fist gripped tightly in the dark brown curls of a girl no older than Hermione herself. She looked terrified, and starved, and beaten, and somehow resigned to her fate. She knew she'd been brought here to die.

Hermione used every ounce of force she had to keep her expression from darkening.  
The Dark Lord beckoned Bella to bring the girl into the centre of the grouping and smiled as she did so. "Miss Lestrange, tonight you join our ranks as a Marked Death Eater. You become one of us, connected by more than just the blood of your father, or your own loyalty to the cause. You become Marked as my own, and I take you into my house with pride and joy. I have expectations and demands that may at times be hard to meet, however in return I grant you my protection and my guidance. Do you accept your place within these ranks?"

Hermione let a smile play across her face as she turned her body to better face the man standing before her. She curtsied and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I do, my Lord."

Hermione suddenly felt the sharp pangs of Legilimency, and quickly fortified her barriers once more, drawing herself back into the corner of her mind, keeping only the façade of herself available for viewing. She kept the eye contact, knowing that he didn't need it to access her mind, but hoping that it would cement her eagerness for him and his belief in what he was finding. One of the things Finn had taught her was that if she acted as though she had nothing to hide, he would be more pleased and less likely to pry as deeply or roughly as he may if he thought she were trying to keep secrets.

After another minute of their silent staring, Hermione had the beginnings of a sharp headache but she felt him pull out of her mind.

He turned his gaze from her and set it on Finn. "Mr Rowle, her wand, if you will."

Finn walked several steps into the circle, producing Hermione's wand and setting it into her waiting palm. He wrapped his large hand over hers, closing her fingers around the wand and squeezing gently. Giving her a brief smile, he let go and turned, retaking his place in the line.

"Miss Lestrange, this young… woman," he said the last word as though it tasted foul in his mouth, "is a crime against our world simply by her existence. Her father committed an immoral transgression and thought he could get away with it simply by hiding out in the muggle world. You see, her father is a wizard, but he married a muggle. This creature before you is the product of a breeding that should never have happened, and thus, must be eliminated. However, upon her capture, she permanently wounded one of our own. As such, she now faces a much more painful death, which you will be in charge of. Once she has been taken care of—in whichever manner you see fit—we will move to the ceremony of your marking." The Dark Lord smiled encouragingly at her before stepping away and taking a seat in his throne like chair several paces back from where they stood.

Hermione nodded toward him and smiled. "It will be my pleasure, my Lord."

She couldn't keep her hands from trembling, but hoped that it would either not be noticed or would be brushed off as general nerves from being in front of the group. Hermione turned to the now sobbing girl; she too was dressed in a white garment, kneeling and pleading, a sacrificial lamb before her. She couldn't help but notice the similarities between them. They both had short, curly brown hair, they were of the same age, the girl was even of the same skin tone as Hermione.

_She is me,_ Hermione thought. _I was right. My soul dies with her, tonight._

Hermione pointed her wand and the girl held her hands up protectively in front of herself. "Please, don't do this!" she cried out.

"Crucio," Hermione said, her voice steady and sure, not betraying the heartbreak and disgust she felt.

The girl writhed and screamed before her and several Death Eaters hooted at her choice of torture before death. Hermione knew the moment Finn had told her what the initiation consisted of that she would have to draw out the killing. She couldn't make it a mercy kill. She would have to hurt and torture the victim before killing them. It was in that moment that she truly understood what Draco had meant. " _No matter what_."

And so she did what she had to do.

She Crucio'd the girl for several long moments before letting up and then immediately sending the curse she'd used on Bellatrix. The crowd became even more enthusiastic with their praise of her. She heard someone remind Bellatrix of her time with that specific curse, and she heard and felt the mood of the room as her show roused the group. Hermione fought back bile threatening to come up and pointed her wand again. She sent several strong cutting hexes aimed to maim but not kill. Each hex she sent however, became easier and easier as they left her wand and found the target. She was standing close enough that she felt warm blood splatter her legs, arms, and face. The longer she tortured the girl, the easier it got. Hermione tried to ignore that thought. The girl was now bleeding all over the floor, made especially obvious by the dark red stains spreading across her white dress. Her sobs were still echoing around the room, but they were less desperate now. She knew her fate, now she cried only because of the pain.

When the girl began to feel the full effects of the blood boiling curse, Hermione felt she had done enough, and with one last look at the innocent life before her, she aimed her wand with intention and purpose.

"Avada Kedavra," she said, just loud enough to be audible.

The girl immediately stopped making sounds but her eyes remained open, locked on Hermione as the life was finally sucked from her body.

Hermione knew her own soul had gone with it.

Cheers erupted around the room, and the Dark Lord stood from his chair to walk toward her. He opened his arms and folded her into the coldest hug Hermione had ever received. "I am very pleased, my child."

Hermione could feel both Finn and Draco's eyes boring into her, but she couldn't bring herself to look at either of them. She was a monster.

Voldemort took her hand with his and raised them into the air above her head like a victory gesture and the shouting and clapping continued. He let them adore her for a few moments before using his other hand to silence the room. They quieted quickly, expectantly.

"She has done well, has she not?" he said, and let the room erupt in applause once more before silencing them again. "Now, Hermione," he said, dropping her hand and turning toward her. "Kneel before your Lord and receive me."

Hermione was suddenly petrified at his meaning, praying desperately to gods that likely no longer listened to her pleas. She had done enough tonight, he couldn't mean to make her _service_ him as well.

She was filled with relief when he only reached out and requested her arm. Hermione extended it up into his grasp and had only a moment to panic once more about whether the mark would stick or not before the pain began. At first it was sharp, but manageable. She kept her eyes on her arm, watching as inky black magic seeped into her skin, permanently maring her. The pain quickly grew, travelling from her arm and spreading into her entire body. It seemed as though it were under her skin, in her very blood, moving to every location in her body and burning like a fire. She lasted only a couple minutes before tears started leaking from her eyes, and with five minutes she too was screaming in pain, writhing as he bore his Mark into her. Her body went slack from the pain and she vaguely realised someone had come to hold her arm up while the Dark Lord continued to drill his Mark into her. Her face was pressed against the stone cold floor and her gaze was locked onto the body lying dead behind the Dark Lord. The life was gone but the eyes remained open, somehow seeming fixed on her as she lay there, crying out in an agony she knew she deserved.

xXxXxXx

Hermione knew she had gone in and out of consciousness during the Marking. She'd tried her hardest to hold on, and to remain respectable, but pain like that was impossible to ignore or push aside. It demanded to be felt in a way that took over your whole body, your entire existence, as it coursed through your veins and permeated your soul. Her throat was raw from the screaming, and she became aware that her arm was dripping in blood. She looked down and the black inky stain that was now branded into her very being was swollen and angry looking, but it was also most definitely there. It stuck. Her dress was splotched with blood, and the floor around her was similarly streaked and covered.

She looked up from her arm into the smiling face of Voldemort. He reached a hand toward her and helped her to her feet. "I'm surprised that you are still conscious, child. Not many make it to the end as you have. Welcome to my circle."

Hermione looked over his shoulder and spotted Draco staring back at her. His expression was tight, though unless you knew him you probably wouldn't be able to tell. He looked disgusted. That was the last thing Hermione remembered before her world swayed and her vision darkened.

xXxXxX

When she regained consciousness she felt groggy, sick and sore, but _alive._ She kept her eyes closed, not sure if she even had the strength to open them—or to deal with the consequences of her actions.

She slowly became more aware of her surroundings, though. She was almost positive that she was laying in her own bed—or rather, Finn's bed. It was quiet, and someone was holding her hand—albeit very loosely, which she was thankful for as the whole arm burned like the dickens. Their head was resting on the bed and pulling the blankets tighter around her middle, making her think they must be sleeping.

Very slowly she raised her right arm and brought it across her body, wincing at the movement. She placed it gently on top of the head at her side, carding her fingers through the hair. She released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and turned her head, opening her eyes to see the familiar face next to her.

Draco groaned quietly, turning his head toward her touch. She stroked her hand down his relaxed features and watched as his eyes opened, taking her in. Hermione's hand fell from his face as he sat up, looking at her with eyes she could not read. She carefully and slowly pushed herself up until she was sitting, wincing often but keeping her eyes on him as he watched her.

When his expression did not change, she tore her gaze from his, looking away in shame. "I'm sorry," she whispered as tears welled up in her eyes. "I had to, I'm so sorry."

"Hermione," Draco said quietly.

She didn't turn her head to look at him. She couldn't bare to see his disgust again.

"Hermione," he said again, much more sternly. When she still did not acknowledge him, he reached across her, very gently grasping her face in his hand and turning her toward him. She let him, however she kept her eyes downcast. "Look at me, Hermione," he said firmly.

She did.

"Never apologise for this."

She shook her head. "I—"

"I know what you did. You did exactly what you had to in order to survive. Never ever apologise to me for staying alive, Hermione." He reached out, brushing his thumb across her cheek and wiping her fallen tears away. After a minute he asked, "How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been run over by the Knight Bus and left in the street to die."

"Yeah, that will last a couple days," he said. "You did it, Hermione."

"I didn't know that there was a chance the Mark wouldn't take; why didn't you tell me that?"

"There wasn't any chance that it wouldn't take, and we didn't want to unnecessarily worry you over nothing," he said.

"What do you mean there wasn't a chance it wouldn't take? It didn't sound like that's what Voldem—ahh!" she hissed, grabbing at her left arm, which was the wrong thing to do as it was still throbbing in pain.

"What the fuck?" she asked, looking up to Draco.

"Yeah, can't say that anymore, love."

"Well that's bloody annoying," she growled, tenderly holding her arm to her chest.

He shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

Hermione sighed and laid her arm out before her, getting her first look at the physical evidence of her betrayal. It wasn't a pretty mark, that was for sure. But after months of living with Finn and being exposed to his Mark, as well as Draco's, and every bloody person's in this hell hole, she found she wasn't as appalled by it as she thought she would be. She was already used to the Mark, now she just had to get used to it being on _her_ arm.

Hermione sighed and pushed the covers off of her legs, gingerly maneuvering her body as she began to get out of bed.

"What are you doing?" Draco said, trying to stop her from getting up.

"I'm going to take a shower and change my…" she looked down at her body and realised she was only wearing her knickers and bra. " _Put_ some clothes on, I guess."

"The dress was covered in blood," he said quietly in explanation. "Hermione, no one expects you to be up yet. You've only been sleeping for," he checked the clock over his shoulder, "Merlin, Hermione, you've only been sleeping for twelve hours. I was in bed for two days when I took my Mark, and even that was a relatively quick recovery. You _need_ rest!"

"I _need_ to shower, Draco. I can't…" she shuddered slightly and grimaced. "I can _feel_ the blood still on my skin."

"Cleansing charms are—"

"No, Draco. Help me to the bloody washroom, I'm taking a shower."

Ten minutes later they'd settled on a bath, and Hermione was soaking in the large tub while Draco waited in the other room. He'd offered to stay but Hermione knew she needed some time alone, to process and to prepare herself for the questions she knew he and Finn would have for her.

When she had finished scrubbing her body of the blood and sweat that remained, she gingerly stood from the tub. The door was cracked open—something Draco had insisted on so he could hear in case she needed him—so Hermione raised her right hand and summoned her wand. It came flying into her grasp, and she used it to warm the towel on the counter before using that to dry her body and then take the sopping wetness from her hair. She didn't care enough to use a drying charm. Taking a deep breath, Hermione walked out to join Draco and face the day. Finn was sitting at the table with him, and they were both nursing very full glasses of Firewhisky. Hermione said nothing as they both stared at her. She crossed the room and opened the potions box on Finn's dresser, searching the bottles until she found the three she was looking for: a healing potion, a pain relief potion, and an energy potion.

"What are you doing?" Finn asked from across the room.

"Just grabbing a pain relief and healing potion," she said.

They clearly had no problem with that answer because neither man questioned her further. Hermione pulled her wand out again and pointed it at the first bottle. It was the pain relief. She had been doing a lot of reading lately—nothing new with that behaviour, however, she had access to many books she'd never encountered before, not even in Hogwarts. One of the things she'd been studying was potion manipulation. It was a rather intriguing concept, actually. The ability to take a potion and alter its effects based on the contents of the brew. Magic and magical ingredients _wanted_ to work together; there was a certain symbiosis between them. If the caster knew the ingredients of the potion, they could easily manipulate them, not into a seperate potion entirely, but at least a different version of what you started with.

Luckily, Hermione had watched Finn brew these potions and had already thought about manipulating them prior to now. She hadn't had a chance yet, but figured now was as good a time as any.

She wound the spell into the first bottle, hoping it worked. When she finished, she moved on to the second bottle and repeated the process, the incantation slightly different for this one.

"Hermione, what the fuck?" Draco said, startling her as he spoke over her shoulder.

Hermione began uncorking the bottles in front of her. "If you think I'm just going to lie in bed all week you've got another thing coming, Draco." She quickly brought the first bottle to her lips and drank its contents.

Draco's hand came up and caught her wrist as she reached for the next bottle.

"Relax, Draco. It's a pain relief potion, a healing potion, and an energy potion. Nothing nefarious," she said, rolling her eyes. She pulled her wrist from his grip and drank the second potion.

"But what did you do to them?"

"Nothing really. Hopefully, I just enhanced them a bit," she said, throwing back the last bottle and then vanishing the three empties.

"What do you mean _enhanced_?" he asked.

Hermione immediately began feeling the effects of the potions. Her body felt less like a train wreck and more like an all over ache, and she was feeling much more alert and rested than she had. "Exactly what I said. Look," she held her arms out, "I'm fine. Let's go sit down, alright? I need a drink."

Hermione brushed past Draco and sat in the chair at the table, not bothering to use a glass and drinking straight from the bottle of Firewhisky.

"Whoa there, doll," Finn said, reaching over and gently pushing the bottle down from her mouth. "You really should get some more rest, Hermione. It's not easy on the body, taking the—"

Hermione glared at him. "Don't, Finn. I'm fine, alright?"

Finn made a face and put his hands up in the universal gesture for ' _don't shoot'_. Hermione rolled her eyes and took another drink. "So what's the plan?"

"What plan?" Draco asked.

"When are we leaving this hell hole?"

Finn laughed. "Ready, are you?"

"I've _been_ fucking ready, Finn." she said.

"Well, I've got a few things to straighten out before we can leave, but I'd say definitely this week, if not the next few days."

Hermione sighed. That was longer than she'd hoped. She couldn't wait to get away from this place. Where she was held prisoner and tortured. Where she… where she was branded, and where she killed an innocent child. She squeezed her eyes shut as the memories tried to surface.

Yeah, she was ready.

"I can't sit around today," she said. "I need to get out of this room and do something, otherwise… Otherwise I'm going to have to think about it, and I'm not ready to think yet."

"Hermione, you really can't—"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Draco. You don't own me yet," she snapped, glaring at him.

Draco recoiled. He physically recoiled from her and his expression was as though he'd been slapped.

Hermione brought her hand up and rubbed her eyes before pinching the bridge if her nose. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said that."

"What do you mean, yet?" He asked. "Is that what you think I want? Is that what you think our… marriage will be like?"

"No, Draco, I don't. Obviously I don't, I just—" she sighed heavily and looked up at him. "I snapped and I didn't mean to. Forgive me?"

Draco eyed her for what seemed like an eternity and Hermione bit her lip, waiting. "I'm not trying to own you, Hermione. Or boss you around or anything like that. I just want what's best for you, and you have a tendency to push yourself too hard, too fast."

She reached out her hand, taking hold of his that rested on his knee and squeezing reassuringly. "I know, I do that sometimes."

Finn snorted. "Sometimes," he scoffed.

Hermione glared.

Turning her attention back to Draco she spoke again. "Really, I'm alright. I modified the potions, ok? It's something I've been studying for a while, and I gave it a try and it seems like it worked. I'm achy but not dying anymore, and I can only assume the healing potion is doing its work, too. Plus I took an energy potion, which I didn't modify but it's definitely working. I just need to get out of here and let my mind focus on something else."

Draco nodded. "Alright. What did you have in mind?"

Hermione smiled, a slow-spreading, sly grin that she knew made both men edgy. "I was thinking we could do some training."

xXxXxXx

An hour and a half later found the three of them sated from breakfast and in one of the training rooms of the Manor.

Finn had argued at first, saying there was no way he was letting her do anything overly physical so soon after her marking. Draco's face was set in a tight expression that told her he _wanted_ to argue about it as well, but after their words earlier he didn't dare to.

In the end, Hermione had consented to a full—albeit rudimentary—health scan. Finn was determined to use what little mediwizard skills he possessed to make _sure_ she wasn't going to gravely injure herself or exhaust her core magic. He was rather put out to find that Hermione was right. The potions seemed to be working and she really had sped up the healing and recovery process.

Which is why they stood before a life-size dummy, enchanted to spar with Hermione so she could practice her physical fighting skills on an actual moving target rather than a punching bag. In a duel, it didn't matter your opponent's size because physical strength had no correlation to magical strength. In hand to hand combat, however, size and strength were at least half the battle: fighting Finn was much harder than she cared to admit because he was twice her size, and since he taught her literally everything she knew he was able to anticipate her moves in an uncanny and infuriating way.

Draco had flat out refused to hit her, not even wanting to be in the room while she fought. He had said he had a few things to take care of and left the two of them in the training room. So the dummy it was.

"You're sure you are up for this?" Finn asked, _again._

"Bring the fucking dummy to life Finn, and don't ask me that again," she growled, planting her feet and rolling her shoulders back. She brought her fists up in front of her face and nodded, letting Finn know it was time.

He said the spell, and the stuffed human-shaped bag of beans came to life. It was both silly looking and intimidating—an animated, faceless fighting machine that was coming straight for her. Hermione felt the familiar sharp pricks of Legilimency from Finn as the dummy took the first swing. She had told Finn she wanted him to try and get into her mind while she was fighting because she needed the practice of keeping her shields up in situations like that. Honestly, the Dark Lord trying to pry into her mind had been terrifying and he'd come closer to succeeding than she ever wanted to admit. She feared who may get in if they tried that when her focus wasn't entirely on keeping her shields up.

It wasn't easy, Finn was putting his all into the effort, and the dummy was giving her a run for her money. She'd landed one punch so far, but she had also taken one, which is exactly when Finn had been able to sneak past one of her walls and glimpse into her mind for the briefest second. Hermine quickly realised what happened and slammed the shield back into place before looking over her shoulder. Finn was grinning like he'd won a biscuit. The fucker.

Bringing her attention back to the dummy, Hermione managed to trip and then roll on top of it, getting her hands around its neck for a brief moment before she was essentially catapulted off, landing hard on her arse and hip. She just managed to scramble to the side before the thing grabbed her again. She was fighting completely defensively at this point, only managing to get away from the thing in the nick of time, several times in a row. It lunged once more, and at the last moment, Hermione turned the opposite direction and was able to elbow the dummy in the chest. She could feel Finn poking and trying very hard to get into her mind, but she was confident that, though very difficult, she could keep him out. After that, she was able to land several hits in succession as the dummy struggled to regain its balance. When it finally did, however, it came at her much more aggressively than it had, and managed to strike her in the upper arm. The blow surprised her and knocked her off balance, giving the dummy just enough access to hit her again. And again. She was using all her strength and as much focus as she could spare just to avoid getting hit and block the non-stop attacks from the dummy. She could feel her shields almost shaking under the pressure. As she fought to keep them fully in place, she realised she couldn't do both: she couldn't fully occlude her mind _and_ not get her arse kicked by this dummy.

When she was struck in the face, Hermione fell to the ground with a whimper. The dummy did not stop its attack, and soon she was lying helpless on the ground, one arm shielding her head and the other her stomach, focusing all of her energy and strength on her shields. In an obviously unhealthy way, it felt almost cathartic getting her arse kicked by the dummy. Each blow felt deserved after what she'd done, and at that echoing thought, she stopped trying to fight it off. She sustained several hard blows before the dummy suddenly slumped to the ground, immobile.

"What the fuck was that?!" Finn yelled as he drew closer, kneeling before her.

Hermione gingerly unfolded herself from the ball she'd been in but didn't look at Finn. "It was fight or drop my shields," she said quietly. "Obviously I couldn't do the latter."

"You're with _me!_ " Finn shouted angrily. "Training! You don't have to let yourself get beat to a bloody fucking pulp!"

Hermione reached her hand up and wiped at her mouth, which apparently was bleeding. She knew she'd just smeared blood across her face but didn't care.

"Actually, Finn, I do. I need to know that if it comes to this, I'll be able to hold my shields, no matter what. So sod off, because you're being a bloody arse right now!"

"I'm just trying to help you, Hermione!" Finn shot back, standing up.

Hermione rolled over and pushed herself to sit up. "Yeah, well no one can help me now, Finn," she said flatly.

He scoffed and turned his back from her. "Not if you don't let them, that's for sure!"

"Fuck off, Rowle," she spat, standing up and wincing as pain radiated from the places she'd been hit. It definitely hurt more than she thought it should—probably something to do with the fact that she'd been all but beaten to a bloody pulp at the Marking yesterday, and the potion she'd manipulated didn't cover the excessive beating she'd opted for.

Hermione stormed toward the door, needing space for a few minutes.

"Hermione, where are you going?" Finn called to her.

"I need a fucking minute, Finn. Don't follow me."

She walked into the hallway and turned left, trying to put distance between her and Finn, truly needing the time alone. She hadn't had any since before everything had happened.

Hermione wandered the manor for a good ten minutes before she felt like she was calm enough to return and face Finn. She owed him an apology. She was angry and upset but it wasn't fair to take it out on him. She needed to do something to come to terms with what had happened… with what she'd done. She murdered _two_ innocent lives. She had the darkest magic literally coursing through her veins. And that was just the beginning. The things she would have to do… Sighing, Hermione turned around and headed back to the training room. Those were thoughts for another time. Walking down the hall, she was surprised to find that she actually knew her way around the manor now.

When she rounded the corner of a particularly secluded hallway, Hermione ran right into someone, nearly falling onto her arse but instead found herself being steadied by strong hands around her shoulders.

She nearly groaned when the unwelcome voice spoke. "Careful there."

Looking up, Hermione made eye contact with Dolohov, who was holding her just inches from himself. She watched his expression change as he took her in. "Whoa, pet. What happened?"

"Nothing I'm in the mood to discuss," she said, backing out of his grasp. "Excuse me," she said, attempting to walk around him.

Hermione made it a few paces before he was walking right beside her, his hand roughly grabbing her arm. "I asked you what happened," he said sternly, pulling her to a stop beside him.

After the last couple of days she'd had, Hermione found she had no patience for his arseholery, and jerked her arm from his grasp. "And I told _you_ to mind your own bloody business," she hissed.

Dolohov clearly did not like that response. He scowled darkly before grabbing her around the waist and hauling up her over his shoulder.

Hermione beat her fists against his back and kicked her legs. "Put me down you bastard!" she shouted, trying to squirm out of his grasp. She was pissed at herself for leaving her fucking wand in the training room. _WHY had she done that? She's allowed to have it at all times now! Stupid!_

"Oh my, don't we have a colourful vocabulary. No, I don't think I will. It's my duty as a concerned gentleman, especially a concerned suitor, to find out who has hurt my lady," he said.

She continued to beat his back. "I'm not your fucking lady!"

Dolohov chuckled, and Hermione stiffened when he slid one of his hands from her ankle all the way up the inside of her leg, only just avoiding her centre at the last minute, and placing it on her arse before patting it a few times. "Not yet, my love, not yet."

"Keep your fucking hands off me you prick," she spat, kicking and clawing at his back.

Dolohov suddenly turned and opened a door on his right, waking into the room and shutting the door behind him. Looking around, Hermione realised it was a spare room and her stomach sank. He moved into the middle of the room and unceremoniously dropped her onto the bed, standing right before her and glaring down.

"I am surprised you are up and about, pet, after last night's celebration."

"Fuck you."

"Well, I'd like that very much, actually," he smirked. "Don't worry, we will get to that next. We need to talk about something first, though."

Hermione scanned the room, desperately searching for a way out. There was only the one door, though, and Dolohov was effectively blocking her from it. Plus she knew she was in the most unused wing of the manor, no one would even hear her if she were to scream.

Dolohov continued speaking. "The Dark Lord informed me yesterday that my contract was being refused as is because of the expiration date. Something about how you wanted to be _fair_ to the other suitors and give them time to court you as well, so you could make a _fair_ decision. But it looks to me like you've already made your decision, and _that_ is not _fair_."

"If I had made a decision, then it would have been announced, or the Dark Lord would have told you," she hissed.

"Malfoy sure has been spending a lot of time with you, and we both know he's the only other suitor you've had, besides the Nott boy who isn't even here. He hasn't even produced a contract to my knowledge. And that is not how we do things, pet. Something is going on."

Hermione didn't answer, just continued to glare.

"That's all a little upsetting, pet. You see, I had my sights set on a Beltane wedding. How lovely would that symbolism be, if you were to take my seed on Beltane, a day we celebrate fertility, and…" He trailed off, moving onto the bed with her. Hermione scrambled back but he caught her around the waist, pulling her up onto her knees and right into him. She put her hands on his chest and tried to shove him away, but he was so much larger and stronger than her that she didn't stand a chance. He bent his head, dropping it to her neck where he sucked and nipped at the skin. "And sexuality," he said, finishing his statement.

Hermione pulled away from him, but he held her so tightly that she made no progress. He grabbed one of the hands that was pushing at his chest and, still sucking at her neck and surely leaving a mark, brought it to his crotch, making her feel his straining erection. "Bet you've never had a man like me before," he growled. "Don't worry, pet. I'll go slow, the first time."

Disgusted, angry and frightened—although anger was the emotion at the top currently—Hermione knew she couldn't overpower him like this. Her mind was reeling, trying to come up with a way out. She knew she had to do something though, and quick. She made a rash decision, and stopped fighting, letting him press her hand fully into his erection, even spreading her fingers out slightly, as if she were trying to feel it.

He immediately let her hand go, bring his own up to cup her arse. "That's right baby, I knew you wanted it."

As soon as she felt him relax into her a bit, she whispered, "I've never had a man as small as you, that's for sure," and brought her knee up as hard as she possibly could, connecting with his prick and making him howl out in agony, releasing his grasp on her just enough for her to scramble off the bed.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" he shouted.

Hermione had her hand on the door when she heard the springs on the bed groan as he maneuvered off of it and toward her. She threw the door open and ran out into the hallway, sprinting full speed away from the room. She was panting and out of breath already, and she could hear his heavy footfalls following closely behind her. She grabbed at a cabinet that was in the hallway as she rounded one of the corners, throwing it down and hearing the glass shatter on the floor, but still not turning back.

"You'll pay for this, bitch!" Dolohov shouted at her.

As she entered a more trafficked area of the manor, the footfalls behind her began to grow further away, until she was sure he wasn't following her any longer, but still she ran.

She sprinted all the way back to the training room, praying Finn was still in there, and if he wasn't, that he'd at least left her wand. She slammed the door behind her, flooded with relief when she saw him standing with his back to her and her wand right where she'd left it. She raced to the table, picking up the vine wood and spinning to face the door, her back against the wall, panting heavily.

"What the fuck?" Finn asked, clearly confused.

Hermione didn't move a muscle, eyes trained on the door. After several moments, when nothing happened, she slowly dropped her wand arm to her side, sliding her body down the wall behind her until she was in a heap on the floor.

"Hermione, you need to—what happened?" he asked as he realised something was wrong.

"Dolohov," she said in explanation between breaths.

"That fucker!" Finn hissed. He dropped to his knees before her, holding her face in his hands. "Did he touch you? Are you ok?"

Hermione shook her head. "He tried, but…But I think I fucked up, Finn."

"What happened?"

"I ran into him in the hallway, and he picked me up like his fucking property, dragged me off to some room, tried to kiss me, tried to impress me with his tiny prick. I kicked him in the balls and…may have said something rude about his size before running straight here."

Finn pulled her into him, holding her tightly. "It's fine, Hermione, everything will be fine. The plan you had going might need to be reevaluated, but I swear to Merlin if he tries to turn this back on you I'll kill him."

Hermione nodded, knowing he actually meant it.

After a few silent moments, Finn pulled away. "Did you at least kick him hard?"

"Very."

Finn grinned at her. "Good girl," he said, patting her on the head.

"Sorry I yelled at you," Hermione said, feeling guilty.

"It's fine, doll—"

She shook her head. "It isn't. I didn't mean it. I'm just so bloody stressed, and I took it out on you and I shouldn't have."

"Hermione, you're in probably the most stressful place in all of wizarding Britain right now—Hell, probably ALL of Britain, period. You get to lose your shit sometimes."

Hermione laughed and hugged him again, tightly. Of all the shitty things that had happened to her in the last several months, she would always be grateful for Finn.


	53. Honey, I'm Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.  
> Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85  
> A/N: I really appreciate the patience, guys! Between moving, and a new puppy, and life, I haven't been able to write as much as I'd like. Hopefully, soon I'll get back into frequent updates! For now though, enjoy!! 
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

**CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE**

**Honey, I'm Home  
**

* * *

As soon as Hermione and Finn made it back to their room, Hermione headed for the shower. She desperately needed to wash Dolohov's touch from her skin. She was scrubbing herself for the second time, finally starting to feel almost clean, when she heard a distinctive shout, and what sounded like something hard falling over.

"HE WHAT?"

Hermione perked her ears, trying to hear what was going on over the noise of the shower. There was a bit of a scuffle and what sounded like grunts from both parties.

"You can't yet!"

"Fucking let me go, Finn!"

That one was clear as day, as it came from right outside the bathroom door, which slammed open against the wall a moment later. Draco burst in and he looked livid. Hermione rinsed the soap from her body and raised her eyebrows at him. He was red-faced and clearly angry.

"Are you ok?" he asked gruffly.

Hermione sighed; Finn told him. "I'm fine, Draco.

He kept his eyes on hers for several moments, as if trying to gauge whether she was telling the truth or lying. Finn sauntered into her line of sight, leaning on the doorframe and casually putting his hands in his pockets.

"I told him," he said with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes and replied dryly, "I gathered."

"You're alright though?" Draco asked again.

Hermione nodded, trying to sound as sure as she could. "Yes, I'm fine."

"And naked," Finn added, smirking in appreciation and wiggling his eyebrows.

As if he only just realised she was, indeed, naked, Draco shouted at Finn, "Hey! Get out you fucker!" He shoved Finn in the chest until he was out of the bathroom and slammed the door, crossing his arms and looking like he was planning on standing guard.

"I don't need you to watch over me," Hermione said with a laugh. She rinsed her hair and body once more before turning the taps off.

"Apparently you do," he growled, walking to the counter and handing her the towel that was waiting there.

Hermione silently took the towel, drying off and wrapping it around her body before grabbing the second towel and scrunching her hair with it. She looked at Draco, standing there so clearly furious and protective, and sighed. "I really am ok, Draco," she said, placing one of her hands on his forearm as she passed by him, exiting the bathroom.

Draco stopped at the table where Finn sat and picked up the bottle of firewhisky, taking a considerable swig. Hermione continued on to her wardrobe, opening it and searching out something specific. She found what she was looking for and, picking up a pair of black heels, brought the stack of clothes to the bathroom. She didn't bother shutting the door—there was no point when they didn't care about her privacy anyway.

Hermione pulled on the half-sleeve, black dress. It hit just at her knees—not too long, not too short. It also prominently displayed her Mark, which she was not used to seeing yet, but knew would please the Dark Lord and anyone else she may run into. She slipped into the black heels, pointing her wand at the buckles. She dried her hair and used a few simple makeup charms. In a matter of minutes she was more than presentable; Narcissa would most certainly approve.

Walking out of the bathroom, she felt Draco's eyes on her. "I need to see the Dark Lord," she said, taking the bottle from him and pouring herself a glass.

"What? Why?" he demanded. "You should still be resting!"

"I need to see him before he leaves, assuming he isn't gone yet." Hermione gave him back the bottle and walked to the door.

Draco stood and walked toward her, but she shook her head. "No, Draco. I have to go alone on this one."

"I'm sorry, what?" he said, anger already tinting his voice.

"I have to speak to him and I think I have to do it alone. You're too emotional about this, and I need him to—I just need to do this alone."

"Like hell you do! You were alone for five minutes today and nearly got raped! I'm not letting you go anywhere alone ever again!" he shouted, blocking her from getting to the door.

Hermione sighed and put her hand out to grab his. She shook her head slightly. "Draco, you can't protect me everywhere I go. I made a mistake today, going without my wand. It won't happen again. Especially now that I'm allowed to have it everywhere I go. I won't let something like that happen again. Stun first, ask questions later, alright?"

"I don't like this, Hermione."

"I know you don't," she said softly. Hermione reached up, cupping his face and gently stroking her thumb across the smooth skin there. "I will be back soon."

Hermione leant forward and kissed him softly on the cheek before leaving the room and heading toward the Dark Lord's office. When she got there she took a steadying breath and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Turning the knob she pushed open the door, bowing her head slightly as she entered his office. She walked to the chair in front of his desk, placing her hands on the back of it and waiting for him to finish his writing. When he looked up he was clearly surprised to see her.

"Hermione, please sit," he said gesturing to the chair in front of her. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you, sir," she said, delicately sitting down. Both the energy and pain potions seemed to finally be wearing off, and honestly, she was feeling tired and sore. But still better than she had any right to.

"I'm surprised to see you up so soon," he said, leaning back in his chair and interlinking his fingers, laying them in his lap.

Hermione smiled demurely. "Yes, well I've several things to do and spending my time asleep in bed isn't one of them."

He laughed, genuinely surprised and pleased it seemed. "Well then, alright. What can I help you with?"

Hermione swallowed. She really wasn't sure how this meeting would go, and she was nervous to find out. "I want to accept Draco's contract, My Lord."

His eyebrows rose. "That isn't what we discussed," he said, sounding intrigued but unwavering. "I wasn't aware he had presented a contract yet."

"Well, he hasn't, sir. But he will. And I realise that it wasn't the plan, My Lord," she said, bowing her head. "However, certain… _complications_ have arisen, and I think a simple change to the plan would be for the best."

"What complications?"

Hermione lifted her head, making eye contact. "Antonin Dolohov, My Lord."

The Dark Lord tilted his head, curious. "And what exactly is complicated about him?"

"He rather fancies me, My Lord. Or, rather, he fancies possessing me. We have had two altercations now, and I can't say I feel safe around him."

"Altercations?" he asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. "He can't seem to keep his hands to himself, My Lord. Even if we put aside the two times he has tried to force me to be sexual with him, he still does things like sit by me at dinner every chance he gets and fondle whatever part of me he can reach. I'm not sure I can control myself much longer." She paused, gauging his reaction. "If I may be frank?" she asked.

He nodded, bringing one hand up and indicating she should continue.

"The next time his fingers seek me out underneath the table, I'm likely to hex both his fingers and his bollocks off, sir. However, I know how much he does for you, and I don't want to upset you by maiming one of your inner circle."

The Dark Lord surprised her by laughing, deeply, at her statement. She wasn't sure what to make of it until he spoke again. "I like you, Hermione. And while I'm sure I would enjoy seeing you handle Dolohov in your own unique way, you're right. I do need him to have continued use of both hands."

Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief and let herself smile a little. She waited patiently as the man seemed to be truly thinking about what to do with her problem. After a moment, he sat up straighter and spoke again.

"How about, rather than _changing_ our plan, because I think it is going to work best just as it is, we simply relocate you?" he said,

"Relocate me, sir?" She wasn't sure if that would be a good thing, or a terrible thing, and her stomach was tight with knots.

"Yes," he said. "I think it would be alright for you to accompany Mister Rowle back to his private apartment, at least until you and Mister Malfoy are ready to move forward. I've been needing him to resume his usual work again anyway, and once he is settled back at his place instead of here all the time, he will be able to. Win-win," he said, finishing with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

It was actually much better than what Hermione had hoped for, even if it did leave her confused and more than a little peeved. Finn had an apartment? Why hadn't he told her?

Hermione pushed her varying feelings down and smiled at the man before her. "Win-win, My Lord."

He picked up his pen and pulled the parchment on which he had been writing back in front of him as he spoke. "Once you're settled, I'd like another meeting with you to discuss your role in this organization. I think you are ready for a more active part."

Hermione nodded in acceptance. "Yes, My Lord." She stood from her chair and turned toward the door.

"Oh, and Hermione?"

She turned back to face him. "Yes, My Lord?"

He looked up with a sly smile on his face. "While I'd appreciate if you didn't maim my followers with permanent hexes, feel free to use some of the other skills you've been learning."

"Sir?" she asked.

"Mister Dolohov has never trained for physical fighting, Hermione. I think you'd have quite the advantage there."

Hermione smiled broadly, bowing her head slightly. "My Lord," she said with as much thanks as she could get into her tone. She turned for the door and left, feeling like she'd somehow won something.

Her body was definitely getting sorer by the minute, so she quickly made her way back to the bedroom, thankfully not passing anyone on her way there. When she walked inside, both heads snapped up to see her, and Draco stood from the chair and walked over to where she was taking her shoes off. She faltered a little as she pulled one of the heels off and Draco's hands were immediately out, steadying her. She looked up and smiled at him. "Thanks." She quickly took the second shoe off and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge. Rather than spending the energy to find and change into pyjamas, she took out her wand and transfigured the dress slightly. She changed the material to a much more comfortable silk and got rid of the sleeves entirely, leaving thin spaghetti straps in their place. She pulled back the covers and crawled into the heap of blankets.

"So?" Draco asked, waiting until she was settled in and then sitting down next to her.

"You gonna tell us what that was all about, doll, or are you just going to make us sweat it out? It's really not nice to keep secrets," he said with a chuckle.

"It's not nice to keep secrets? Care to tell me then why you didn't let me know you had your own place, Finn?" she asked, eyebrows raised at the man.

"Uhh, it didn't seem important?" he said, surprised. "How do you know about that?"

"The Dark Lord obviously told me about it," she said, covering her mouth as she yawned and then looking at Draco. "I went to tell him that I wanted to accept your contract early, to get Dolohov off my back, and he suggested that we just _relocate._ He said it would be fine for me to just accompany Finn to his apartment, if…" she paused, suddenly nervous about _why_ Finn wouldn't have told her about having his own place.

"If what?" Finn asked.

"If you'll have me, I guess," she said softly, feeling unsure.

"Well, _obviously_ I'm not going to leave you here, doll. I'd miss you too much," he said with a laugh, standing up and walking over to the bed, sitting on the end near her feet. "You look tired."

Hermione nodded and covered another yawn. "I think I need more practice modifying the potions. They seem to have run their course, and I feel pretty shite, honestly."

"You _need_ to sleep," Draco said sternly. "You pushed yourself way too fucking hard today."

"Yes, alright, thank you _mother_ ," she said sarcastically.

He glared at her. "Seriously, Hermione."

"Alright, alright," she chuckled, scooting down further under the covers until she was curled up on her side, facing Draco. He put his hand on her forehead, brushing away the hair that fell in her face.

"You sleep. We will figure everything out and when you're ready, we'll move our things to Finn's."

Hermione nodded and closed her eyes. She felt like she could sleep for days at this point, and wouldn't actually be surprised if that really happened. She felt Finn stand up from the bed and a moment later the room darkened. Draco remained next to her, brushing his hand ovwe her head slowly until she fell asleep.

xXxXxXx

"Hermione, Hermione! Wake up! You're ok, wake up!"

Gasping, Hermione woke up, sitting up in bed and looking around, frightened. The room was dim but she could see Draco sitting next to her, worry etched on his face. Over his shoulder, Finn sat at the table, also obviously concerned. They'd clearly both been sitting there together, as there were papers spread out between the two chairs, one of which was pushed back from the table. She looked up at Draco and reached out to clutch his shirt.

"It's alright, Hermione. You're here with us," he said, placing his hand over hers on his shirt.

"I had a nightmare," she said, her breathing regulating a little. "I was, it was—"

"I know," he said, looking down and not meeting her eyes. "We heard."

"Oh," Hermione said, dropping her hand. She'd been dreaming of the girl, from her initiation.

"It's only been a few of hours, can you go back to sleep?" he asked.

"I don't—" she shook her head. She wasn't sure that she could sleep again after that. She didn't want to relive that experience ever again, yet she felt somehow that it was also part of her punishment, to have to remember it.

"Ok, ok, that's fine. We were about done anyway." He looked over to Finn and asked, "You good?"

"Yeah," Finn agreed.

Draco nodded and then stood from the bed, undressing himself down to his boxers. "Scoot over," he said.

Hermione made her way to the middle of the bed, hissing as the cold sheets chilled her body. Draco climbed into the bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. He settled his head into the crook of her neck, placing a kiss there before whispering in her ear, "I've got you."

Hermione nodded as a tear slid down her cheek. It took another twenty minutes, but eventually, she fell back into a dreamless sleep.

xXxXxXx

Hermione slept for a full seventeen hours straight after she'd awoken that first time. When she woke up it was eleven in the morning, two days since she'd been marked. Both Draco and Finn were there, and they had breakfast brought to her in bed, making sure she ate at least a good portion of it before they allowed her to shower and dress for the day.

She picked another all-black outfit, trousers and a half-sleeve blouse, and dried her curls but left them unruly around her face. She stepped out of the bathroom feeling very refreshed and better than she felt she had any right to. Draco and Finn were both dressed and waiting for her, so she walked over to where Draco stood and linked her arm with his.

"I assume you know where we're going?" she asked, looking up at him.

He nodded and then looked to Finn. "Shall we?"

"It's warded up pretty tight, best only try for the alley," Finn said before he disappeared with a quiet _pop_.

Draco looked down at Hermione and smiled. "Ready?"

She nodded, and a moment later found herself standing in a quiet alley that was just off of a bustling street. The corners of her mouth quirked up into a smile as she took in the surroundings—not what she had been expecting at all, though she hadn't really had any expectations. There were no markers for her to know where they were, but it was clearly a busier area.

"Where are we?" she asked.

Finn linked arms with her free arm and when she turned to look at him, he grinned down at her. "Home," he said.

They walked around to the front of the building and Hermione was shocked to find out they were in a muggle neighbourhood. "But where?" she asked again, insanely curious.

Finn grinned at her. "London," he said, walking up to the corner townhouse and opening the door to let her walk in first.

It was very nice. Much nicer than she suspected it had been when it was owned by muggles. There was a staircase dominating the front area, and a little hallway leading back to the rest of the first floor. She walked down the hall and found a very large kitchen, a dining area and a formal sitting room, and a bathroom. It was all decorated, unlike Finn's room at the manor. There were photos on the walls, paintings, tapestries, plants, for Merlin's sake there were _vases_.

"Finn, why didn't you tell me about this?!" she asked, spinning to face him.

"Honestly, I wasn't sure you'd ever be able to see it, and it didn't seem fair to… I don't know, tease you with it?" He shrugged and sat in a barstool at the counter in the kitchen. Draco joined him, and Hermione walked around the space, opening cupboards and peaking inside drawers.

"You live here by yourself?" she asked. "It seems pretty big for one person."

"Yeah, for the most part. Draco usually stays part, if not most, of the summers with me, and his strays are here more often than not with him. But during the school year, it's just me."

"Strays?" she asked, backing up to the counter and hopping up.

"Like you don't enjoy their company," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "He means my _friends_."

"Oh?" Hermione tilted her head.

"Pans, Theo and Daph, Blaise," he shrugged. Sometimes some others will show up, but usually just those four.

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. She looked around the kitchen again and then hopped off the counter. "Can we keep looking?" she asked.

"How about you give her the grand tour and I'll go grab our stuff? Unless you want to stay another night at the manor?"

Hermione recoiled and raised her eyebrow at Finn.

He chuckled and nodded. "Figured as much. It shouldn't take too long to grab everything, but I don't have any food here. Should I stop and grab something for dinner? Takeaway?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Chinese?" she asked. "I've been dying for some good Chinese food! Please please please?"

Finn laughed again and nodded. "Anything for you, doll," he said. "What do you want?"

"Egg rolls," she said. "Lots of egg rolls."

Finn laughed and shook his head at her. "Draco?"

"Anything. You know what I like," Draco said with a shrug.

Finn nodded. "Alright," he said before apparating away.

Hermione left the kitchen and walked into the sitting room, running her hands along the bookshelves that lined the walls. She walked slowly, taking in as much as she could. It felt _good_ to be here. Like she was breathing fresh air for the first time again. The stench of Dark Magic didn't permeate this place like it did the Manor and she felt like she was freer than she had been in months.

"Did you want to see upstairs?" Draco asked, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her hips.

She nodded and then followed him out of the room, up to the first floor. There was a large library, an office, and another bathroom. There were three bedrooms on the third floor, and two on the fourth. The house was starting to remind Hermione of a mixture of Grimmauld Place and the Burrow. The last floor was actually empty. There were four walls and flooring, but it looked as though there had been construction planned and never finished.

"Finn was going to do something with this last summer I think, but he never finished the project," Draco said when she questioned him about it.

"Is he—Can he do this kind of work himself?" she asked. Building charms weren't necessarily _hard_ , but they were complex and most upper-class witches and wizards didn't bother learning them.

Draco looked around and shrugged. "He did this whole place," he said.

"Oh." It seemed there was still a lot about Finn that she didn't know.

Hermione walked back down to the third floor, intent on choosing a bedroom that _wasn't_ right next to Finn's. Not that she'd minded his company, but it would be nice to have some space where she and Draco could just be alone together.

Hermione walked into one of the bedrooms but stopped in the middle, suddenly unsure. She turned around and looked at Draco, who had silently trailed along behind her as she explored the rooms.

"Are we—Are you…" she bit her lip, not sure how to ask without sounding ridiculous. "Where are you sleeping?"

His eyebrows rose and he studied her face for a moment. "Where do you want me to sleep?" he asked, putting his hands into his pocket and leaning on the door frame.

"With me?" she said very quietly.

A slow smile spread across his face and he was suddenly crossing the room, backing her up until her knees hit the bed behind her. Hermione let him push her down onto the bed, his legs straddling hers and his hands coming up to hold either side of her head. "I was hoping you'd say that," he murmured before leaning down and capturing her lips with his. The kiss was intense and deep in a matter of moments; her fingers were threaded through his hair pulling him closer, and one of his hands trailed down her front, under her shirt, and was now cupping her breast.

Draco slid his hands up her body until he reached her arms, pulling her hands gently from his hair and pushing them back on to the bed, pinning her wrists above Hermione's head. He was nipping and kissing along her jaw and down her neck. They were both breathing heavily and Hermione could feel the length of his arousal pressing against her. He drew one hand down her arm to cup her breast again, massaging and pinching the nipple through her thin blouse.

Her head was tilted back, giving him better access to her neck when his thumb brushed along her forearm causing a sharp pain where he touched. Hermione's body immediately froze and she jerked her arm down to her side, almost as if she could hide the appendage. Draco sat up slightly and looked at her, his gaze falling on her arm which she was now clutching to her chest. His forehead creased momentarily and then his expression softened.

"Hermione," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—it just, I wasn't thinking about it, but you touched it and it hurt, and then it just brought everything back and—"

"Hey, hey, hey, it's alright, ok?" He pushed himself off of her, and Hermione could see that he was still very hard as he adjusted his trousers to sit comfortably. He pulled her to sit up next to him and tucked her into his side, putting his arm around her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Well, how are you feeling?" he asked gently.

Hermione sighed and thought about it. "Tired, sore, _changed_. I can't explain it, but something feels different, in my body."

"That's the connection to the Dark Lord. It doesn't go away," Draco said flatly. "It will lessen over time, though. You won't notice it as strongly as you do now."

Hermione was quiet as she held her arm out in front of herself, examining the Mark. She very gently brushed her fingers across the still reddened skin. "I can't stop thinking about what a horrible person I am, how disgusting I've become. The things I've done, it's just too much, Draco, it's too much."

Draco took her outstretched arm in one of his hands, placing his other palm every so lightly on top of her Mark. His voice was tender when he next spoke. "A very smart witch once told me that this Mark doesn't define you. It isn't who you are."

Hermione's heart caught in her throat as he continued on.

"She asked me if I'd forgotten which side I was really fighting for and reminded me that what I'd done, I did to survive. This isn't who you are, Hermione."

A tear rolled down her cheek as she let his words sink in. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been the one saying those words to _him_. She didn't feel like the same person at all. Hermione wiped the tear from her cheek and nodded her head.

"We are in this together, Hermione. I know this isn't what you signed up for, but—" he let her arm go and turned her cheek up so she was looking at him. "I've got you, Hermione." He held eye contact for a long moment, letting that sink in.

She nodded at him and tried to believe what he'd said. She knew that she had meant it when she'd said it to him and tried very hard to apply those same feelings of forgiveness to herself.

Draco leant down and tenderly kissed her once but didn't pull away, giving her the option. She kissed him back fervently, knowing she was using him to try and forget but not caring. She needed him now.

She moved so that she was straddling him on the bed, his hands on her arse and hers knotted in his hair. She was grinding her hips against him knowing they both needed more. It seemed Draco had the same thought because he brought his hands to the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. Hermione began unbuttoning his shirt as his hands swept up her torso, landing on her breasts. Her bra was a very thin lace and he easily plucked her nipples through the material, making it hard for her to concentrate on his buttons. When she'd finally got the last one, she spread her hands across his chest, sliding them up to his shoulders and pushing the material from his body.

They were so caught up in each other that when Finn yelled out, "HONEY! I'm home!" they both nearly jumped out of their skins. Draco growled and Hermione laughed. They could hear Finn coming up the stairs, so Hermione quickly hopped off Draco and searched for her shirt. She had just picked it up from the floor when Finn made his way through the doorway of the bedroom.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he said with a laugh, immediately turning and walking back down the hallway. "You can't even keep it in your pants for ten minutes? Is this what I have to look forward to now?"


	54. Body Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85
> 
> A/N: Because I know a few of you who will appreciate this— This chapter was ** THIS CLOSE** to being named "Eight Minutes to Ravish You". Unfortunately, "Body Shopping" fit better, dammit. Anyway, enjoy! I seriously love you guys and your reviews and kudos and general excitement and support for me and this fic. It's what's kept me going this past YEAR AND A HALF OMG I NEED TO FINISH THIS FIC YESTERDAY.
> 
> P.S. This chapter is a little on the shorter side, but the next chapter is so nearly done, and should be out quickly!
> 
> Xoxo, Luce

 

**CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR**

**Body Shopping**

Hermione sat on the counter in the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee while Finn explained what he did with his time when he _wasn't_ babysitting her. It wasn't something she'd given much thought to before, but she supposed that he did have to have a _real_ 'job'. Draco was leaning on the counter next to her, also working on his coffee, as he listened and occasionally chimed in.

"You're a hitwizard," she said flatly, setting the mug on the counter next to her.

Finn shrugged. "Sometimes," he said, nonplussed. "Mostly though, I track. I honed those skills pretty quickly when I realised that I didn't have to be _here_. Now, if there's a particularly hard wizard or object to find, he sends me. I watch them for a while and bring the information back. He usually sends someone else to do the final job. "

Hermione sighed and didn't say anything else. She wasn't sure why, but this felt icky. He literally stalked and killed people for a living. He was a Death Eater, so of course she knew he killed people, but somehow, making it his literal job title made it a harder pill to swallow.

Hermione picked up her coffee again. Living in London really was the best. Finn had popped out for ten minutes that morning and brought back three perfectly hot, delicious coffees, and had promised to take her to get bakery sweets very soon. This was her second day at Finn's and she was settling in quickly. It felt amazing to be out from underneath the Dark Lord's thumb, no longer worrying about running into Bella, or Dolohov, or anyone else in the hallways. She also wasn't complaining about the increase in alone time she got with Draco. She never minded spending so much time with Finn, but now that she and Draco could actually be alone, she found she rather enjoyed it.

She pulled her mind back from wandering to the bath they'd shared last night and focused on what was ahead for the day. She'd promised the Dark Lord that she would come back and see him as soon as she was settled, and she knew better than to make him wait. She was heading to the Manor for breakfast with Narcissa and then a meeting with the Dark Lord. Finn said he had to head in as well to collect an assignment, and Draco decided to tag along for breakfast. So they were all dressed and ready, sipping their coffee and preparing for the day ahead. Hermione had chosen another black dress and was starting to think it may be her signature colour now. It just didn't feel right to wear bright, happy colours yet. She wasn't sure if it ever would again.

"Alright, doll. Ready?" Finn asked, finishing off his coffee and tossing it in the bin.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed her wand at the rubbish bin, moving his discarded paper cup into the recycle. "Seriously, Finn. Is it that hard?"

He chuckled and threw on his cloak. "No, but what would you do all day if you didn't have me to take care of?" He winked at her and then disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Draco put his hands on her hips and nuzzled into her neck from behind her. "I could come up with several things to do," he whispered in her ear, nipping at the sensitive skin on her neck.

"We are having breakfast with your mother in ten minutes!"

"So you're telling me I have eight minutes to ravish you then?"

Hermione spun out of his arms, shaking her head but smiling. "No, we have to get there early or she will lecture me about punctuality."

Draco shrugged and sighed. "That's mother," he agreed.

"Together then?" Hermione asked, holding her hand out and smiling when he took it.

"Always," he said before they apparated to the manor.

xXxXxXx

"We are going to have to start planning soon," Narcissa said offhandedly as she delicately dabbed her face with the napkin.

"It's a bit early for that, mother. We aren't even publicly dating yet."

"It's never too early to plan for the inevitable, Draco."

Draco squeezed her hand under the table but said nothing. He was well versed in when _to_ and when _not to_ argue with Narcissa Malfoy. This clearly was one of the times to hold his tongue.

"Have you two decided when you will be announcing this?" she asked.

"Not yet. I believe there may be a specific timeline we will be asked to follow. Besides," Hermione said smirking, "I haven't even officially received a contract yet, so technically, there isn't even anything to announce."

Draco scoffed and Narcissa smiled, holding back a laugh.

"I see. I will ask him, then," she said. After a minute, Narcissa looked at her son. "Draco, your father sends his regards. He is hoping you will come see him soon."

"Not likely, mother," Draco said flatly.

"I figured as much," she said primly. "However, I also told him I would ask you, so now I have."

"Yes, you have."

xXxXxXx

Hermione curtsied in front of the desk where the Dark Lord sat. He had waved her in and held his hand out, pulling the chair out for her to sit.

"Good morning, my Lord," she said.

"Hermione, how are you?"

"I am well, my Lord."

"And how are you finding Mr Rowle's residence?"

"It's lovely, Sir."

He smiled at her, "Excellent. I think it's time we discuss your future here, Hermione. I assume you know what Mr Rowle does for me?"

"Yes, my Lord, we've discussed it." she answered.

"It would make sense to keep you working with Mr Rowle, wouldn't you think? You two seem to function very well together."

"Yes, Sir. We do."

"And Mr Malfoy, of course."

"I would like that, my Lord."

"I think it would play well into our little image we are building up for you two," he said, pulling out a folder. "I would like you two to start being seen in public together. With Mr Rowle, at first, but on your own, soon enough. I have a job for you three in Belgium. It seems like the perfect opportunity for you to come out of the shadows."

"Very perfect, my Lord. And what is the job?" she asked.

"Just a name, Miss Lestrange. Mr Rowle will know what to do. I suggest you learn as much as you can from him."

Hermione took the thin folder that he handed her and stood from the chair. She curtsied again. "Yes, my Lord."

She met Draco and Finn at their old room and the three disapparated to Finn's house. Hermione sank onto the couch in the sitting room and was quickly joined by both Draco and Finn. Biting her lip, she looked over at Draco.

"I need to write the Order," she said. "I think it's time we went to see them."

His brows drew together and there was a pause before he spoke. "Alright."

From his expression, Hermione had been sure he was going to argue with her, so she was surprised at his easy agreement. She summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and drafted a quick letter to Professor McGonagall.

_Professor,_

_I am so sorry. I haven't been able to do much of anything until today—I've been watched like a hawk, to say the least. Draco and I would like to come see you and the Order, please. We have much to discuss._

_H.G._

Hermione sent the letter off with Finn's owl and anxiously waited for the reply. She knew it wouldn't be back for a couple hours yet, but she couldn't help constantly checking to see if the bird had returned yet.  
"So, the Dark Lord told me he gave you a folder?" Finn asked, drawing her attention back to the present moment.

"Oh, yes, he did," Hermione said, walking into the kitchen to grab the folder and bringing it back into the sitting room. She handed it to Finn.

He looked it over before handing it to Draco. "We'll start in Knockturn, then," he said.

Draco nodded, "Yeah, might as well."

Hermione eyed Draco curiously. He looked at her and shrugged. "Finn's been taking me with him for the past couple summers."

She raised her eyebrows at the boys, waiting for one of them to explain it to her. Draco passed the folder back to her, pointing at the name. "We need to ask around about him until we get a lead. Then we follow the lead and get as much information as possible. Sometimes it takes a couple days, sometimes it can take a couple weeks or more. Then we bring the information back and hand it off."

"And people don't start to run away when they see you? If you're always asking after people, and then, I assume, they eventually turn up dead, wouldn't people be a little hesitant to give you leads?"

Finn smirked. "Very," he said. "That's why we don't go as us." He raised his eyebrows at her and smirked.

"You Polyjuice the whole time?" she asked, surprised. Polyjuice once in awhile was fine, albeit disgusting. But long term or too often and it caused poor physical reactions.

Now Draco was the one smirking. "Not Polyjuice."

She raised her eyebrows. "Then what?"

"That's why I'm so good at this, doll. I've perfected the art of physical deception. I can be in the field, tracking, for days on end, and not need to figure out how to continuously Polyjuice or glamour myself." He winked at her. "And you thought I was all good looks."

She laughed. "No one would ever call you modest, Finn. So? How do you do it?"

"Secret weapon, doll."

Two hours later, Hermione was knee deep in parchment and texts that Finn had about the potion he'd developed. She was still trying to figure it out, but overall, it was genius. A delicate combination of several Polyjuices, the recipient's blood and something similar to Felix Felicis, interwoven with notice-me-nots and glamours. It was very complicated, and Hermione couldn't even imagine how many test runs the potion took. Finn had explained the whole thing to her twice now, and she still had questions. It was a long lasting potion that took months to leave the system. The effects were activated with a spell, and could essentially be turned on and off as the caster wished. It was bloody brilliant.

"So you get to choose the traits you want?" she asked, skimming the Polyjuice portion of the notes.

"Yep. You get your hairs from several subjects and then essentially cherry pick the qualities you want to keep."

"Huh," she said, reading in depth the bit about extracting qualities with a spell and implanting only those in the potion. "How long does it take to brew?"

"From scratch? Four months."

"We don't have four months! The Dark Lord—"

"Lucky for you, I keep several bases in stasis ready to go. For Draco and I, it would take two days to get a new look because we have already done the preliminary work. For you, it will take maybe a week."

"So what do we have to do?" she asked.

"We will add some things to yours tonight, and in four to five days you'll have to add your qualities and the last of the spellwork."

She nodded. "Alright. And how do we pick the qualities?"

Draco looked at her with a serious expression. "Very carefully."

She laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. "Seriously, Draco?" She shook her head at him, still grinning.

"We go shopping, doll," Finn said, also chuckling.

"Shopping?"

"Yes. Body shopping."

xXxXxXx

Hermione and Draco were sat at a little coffee shop in muggle London and were people watching. They had discussed the ins and outs of the potion all night long, and decided that the following day they would start to gather ingredients and get things ready. While she and Draco did that, Finn had gone to buy Hermione an owl that wouldn't be easily recognised as belonging to them. If they were going to be corresponding with the Order, they couldn't keep using Finn's owl since it was known by too many people.

"So blond or brunette?" Draco asked, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Well, probably not brunette, right? That's what I already have."

"True. You could always go as a redhead," he said, smirking.

She shook her head. "I wouldn't blend in enough."

"Good point. So blond it is. You'll probably want lighter skin, as well. Eyes?"

Hermione shrugged. "Blue? I don't know. What do you look like?"

"Not as devilishly handsome as usual, but still striking," he said with a grin.

She kicked him under the table.

"Very similar to that night we went to the Three Broomsticks. A few skin shades darker, brown hair, green eyes," he trailed off and shrugged again.

"And that's enough?" she asked.

"I change a few features on my face, I shrink down two inches, and I don't wear the same clothes. It's more than enough. People are easy to fool when they don't know they need to be looking."

"Alright then," she said, finishing her coffee. "Let's go make a new me."

Draco laughed and finished his drink as well. He stood with her and escorted her out of the shop. They spent the next hour carefully choosing different muggles, collecting hairs, and meticulously labelling baggies with which traits were to be extracted.

When they got home, Finn instructed Hermione on how to add her blood and spells to the waiting potion. Once she was done, they all met in the kitchen and finished off the Chinese take away from the other night. Hermione thanked the gods for cooling cabinets and reheating charms—the food tasted exactly as good as it had the night Finn brought it home.

She was just tossing the box in the rubbish bin when there was a distinctive tapping at the window. Hermione immediately turned to see an owl waiting to be let in, a letter carried in its beak.

Finn opened the window and took the letter, reading the front and then handing it to Hermione. "For you," he said.

Hermione took the envelope and tore it open, pulling the letter from within and quickly reading it.

_I believe you are right.  
M.M._

Hermione's heart sank. The letter was so much shorter than she was expecting. Five words plus her initials, followed up by a time and place at the very bottom. She read it once more before looking up and meeting Draco's eyes. With a shrug, she handed the letter over to him. He quickly read it, then folded it up and placed it on the counter.

"Well, I guess we've got an appointment tomorrow then."

Hermione bit her lip. "Guess so," she said.

xXxXxXx

Hermione had showered, shaved, dried and applied potions to her hair, put makeup glamours on her face, and was now standing in front of the closet in her room, trying to decide what to wear. She didn't want to choose anything too different, but she literally didn't own anything "Hermione" anymore. Narcissa had stocked her closet full of fancy dresses and colourful trousers and blouses, and Finn had bought her several things that were more practical, but nothing that said _Hermione_.

It took her awhile, but in the end, she chose a pair of skinny pink trousers with a rolled hem, which she transfigured black, a baggy black blouse with long sleeves, and black flats. Always black, now. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and knew they would be surprised by how much she'd changed, but this was the best she could do. At least the shirt would hide the weight she still hadn't gained, as well as her Mark.

When she walked downstairs, Finn and Draco were waiting for her in the kitchen. They didn't say anything, which spoke volumes about how they both felt about this meeting. She had talked with Draco about it a bit the night before but he hadn't really said much, just that he would support her and that she shouldn't stress about it.

"Are you ready, doll?" Finn asked.

"I suppose so," she said with a shrug. "I just want to get it over with, I think."

"You look nice," he said. "But I think you'll need a jacket." Finn walked over to the barstool and grabbed his worn leather jacket. He pointed his wand at it, shrinking it several sizes and then handed it over to Hermione. "I'll be with you in spirit," he said with a wink.

Hermione slipped the jacket on, smiling when she smelled the collar and it smelled like Finn. It might be weird, but she didn't care. He'd been her saving grace the last few months while her entire life was turned upside down, and she cared deeply for him now. He was like an inappropriate older brother. She laughed at the thought.

After a quick goodbye to Finn, Hermione and Draco apparated to neighborhood the safehouse was located in. She had thought it was no longer an active safehouse because the Death Eaters had found out about it. "They don't trust me with their current safehouse," she said quietly. Draco squeezed her hand.

When they arrived on the doorstep, Hermione turned to Draco, more nervous than she ever thought she would be to see the Order. She still didn't know who would be there… if Harry would be there.

"It will be fine, Hermione," Draco said, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing it before letting it go entirely.

Hermione nodded and knocked on the door, holding her breath.


	55. Hermione said 'Fuck'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.
> 
> Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85
> 
> A/N: So now you will see why I had to split the last two chapters when really they could have gone together as one—but an 11k chapter is a little unnecessary, LOL. So here you go, part two! I hope you guys like it!

 

**CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE  
**

**Hermione said Fuck  
**

* * *

[Recap]

_When they arrived on the doorstep, Hermione turned to Draco, more nervous than she ever thought she would be to see the Order. She still didn't know who would be there… if Harry would be there._

_"It will be fine, Hermione," Draco said, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing it before letting it go entirely._   
  


* * *

 

Hermione nodded and knocked on the door, holding her breath.

A moment later, the door was pulled open and Remus stood before her. His expression changed the moment he locked eyes on her, to surprise and confusion, though she couldn't understand why.

"Remus, I—hi."

He looked between them a few times and then cleared his throat. "Hermione, Draco, come in. Minerva is in the kitchen." He turned and led the way to the kitchen, not saying anything else.

Confused, Hermione's heart sank. She wasn't prepared to face Remus after the last time she had seen him. After what he saw. And she didn't understand his surprise in seeing her, them.

Draco placed his hand on the small of her back, gently pushing her toward where Remus had gone. _One foot in front of the other_ she thought. Squaring her shoulders, Hermione reached back and took Draco's hand, looking up at him.

"Are you sure?"

"Of everything I've done, I don't think _this_ ," she held up their joined hands, "is going to be the deal breaker."

He rolled his eyes but squeezed her hand. She turned and walked into the kitchen, Draco right behind her. Professor McGonagall was standing stiffly near the counter and Remus was next to her, waiting for them. Neither looked entirely welcoming, and Hermione was quickly beginning to fear how this meeting would go.

She stopped several feet from Professor McGonagall, standing in front of her and gripping Draco's hand like the lifeline that it was. The Professor briefly glanced down at their linked hands and then back up to Hermione, raising an eyebrow and looking her over for a moment, before visibly relaxing. "Thank Merlin, child, you're ok," she said, her relief evident. She closed the gap between them with two long strides and pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

_Pure relief_. "I'm ok, Professor," she repeated, her voice thick with emotion.

When she finally let her go, the Professor gestured to the table. "Minerva is fine, Hermione. Let's have a seat."

Hermione, Draco and Professor McGonagall sat at the table and Remus gathered a set of tea that had been prepared and waiting on the counter. The house was warm and Hermione shrugged out of Finn's jacket, draping it over the back of her chair. She accepted the tea Remus handed her and waited for him to sit down.

"I thought there would be… others here," she said as Remus joined them. She didn't even attempt to hide her disappointment knowing it would have been useless.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "We told the others the meeting wasn't for another half hour. We need to talk privately first."

"I suppose we probably do, Professor," she said with a small nod. She sipped at her tea trying to calm her nerves. This was it. Either they accepted what she had done, or they didn't.

"Please Hermione, call me Minerva," she said again, placing her hands in her lap and looking between Hermione and Draco. "Why don't you fill us in. What—what happened after you were separated from Harry?"

Hermione sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. She knew they would ask this but that still didn't prepare her for retelling— _reliving—_ those first weeks. Draco rubbed his thumb across her hand underneath the table and she could feel him looking at her. They were all looking at her.

It took less time than she thought, describing her capture, torture, imprisonment, and the last couple months of her life. She left out some—most—of the details, not wanting pity or excessive questions. Not wanting to see their horror as she told them the things she had done. She did talk about Finn but didn't mention how they first met. When she got up to the night of the Ministry takeover, she tensed up, her eyes unable to look at either Minerva or Remus, feeling ashamed and not sure what to say.

"Remus already told us, Hermione," Minerva said with a tight voice. She was neither stern or understanding. "Please, explain yourself."

She took a deep breath. "That man was going to kill the _one_ person who had protected me the last four months. I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen."

Draco sat even taller if that was possible. Hermione saw him look Remus in the eye for a long moment before he turned to Minerva and spoke in a firm, unyielding voice. "Everyone was watching her that night. There is no way she could have done anything else and kept her cover."

"Yes, but—" Minerva tried to argue but was cut off.

"No buts," Draco said. "That night was a test for Hermione. Her own life was on the line if she didn't pass. She did what she had to do."

Hermione looked up and met Draco's eye when he turned to her. She didn't know if that bit was true, about it having been a test for her, but she was thankful he'd said it.

Minerva pursed her lips and nodded, clearly not entirely pleased, but accepting it… for now.

Hermione looked at Remus, whose expression was disappointed yet soft. "I don't like it, but I understand," he said very quietly. "When I—it was the same when I was with the packs. I had to make choices I didn't like, choices that haunt me to this day, in order to keep my cover. In order to survive."

She nodded, thankful that at least one person in the Order would truly understand

"Alright," Minerva said, moving on. "So now you're living on your own? Is that how you are finally able to leave?"

Before she could answer, a whoosh came from the living room, the floo suddenly activating. The small house was quickly filled with chatter as people came through the fireplace. Hermione immediately picked out Harry's voice, and then a moment later, Fred and George, Molly, and then there were too many to distinguish. She felt knots in her stomach again as her nerves came back tenfold.

She barely registered Remus whispering to Draco as she stood up from the table. "You'd better wait in the other room. They're all going to take a Wizard's Oath before they see you."

Draco must have agreed, as he squeezed Hermione's arm before turning and leaving the room. The twins could clearly be heard again, joking and laughing. Their voices drew nearer, louder, as they approached. When Harry finally appeared in the doorframe of the kitchen, he stopped abruptly, immediately quiet, and Hermione was sure she was going to pass out from nerves.

Seeing Harry again was both incredibly relieving and terribly paralyzing. It seemed like minutes passed as they stared at each other, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. The rest of the chatter in the house died away as everyone saw her in the kitchen, but Hermione couldn't tell you who else was standing there behind Harry. When his expression finally changed and he ran toward her, Hermione cried out in relief. He picked her up into his arms, holding on so tightly it almost hurt.

She didn't care. She was probably holding onto him just as tightly.

"Hermione," he breathed out.

She could hear the strain in his voice and knew he was crying just as much as she was. Her body was shaking with the emotion spilling out of her. All she could feel was Harry, holding her again, and she felt like she was home.

"You're ok, you're ok, you're ok." He whispered it like it was a mantra. Harry finally set her feet back on the ground but he didn't let her go. He pulled back from her a little, his hands moving to either side of her face and holding her steady there. He looked into her eyes, his own wet with tears. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

She shook her head, sniffling. "It's not your fault, Harry."

The first thing she heard aside from Harry's words was Molly, loudly weeping and telling Arthur that ' _Our Hermione is back!'_

That seemed to be the thing that broke the quiet. It was hushed whispers at first, but they quickly turned to loud exclamations and soon everyone was surrounding Hermione, trying to hug her, trying to speak to her. Harry never let her hand go, even as she hugged the twins, Tonks, Molly, Arthur, Sirius, and lastly Ron, to her surprise.

When everyone finally settled down a bit, Harry gently dragged Hermione to the table, sitting down and pulling her to sit in the chair next to him.

Molly was bustling about the kitchen, getting everyone tea and setting out some food. Minerva and Remus were quietly talking with Sirius and Kingsley at the back of the room, and everyone else was gathered around the table, all seeming to speak at once. She hadn't been sure that she would ever get to be here again—surrounded by her friends, her family. And it felt good. It felt like home.

But it also felt like something was missing; he was waiting in the other room.

It was unsettling how prominent Draco had become in her life in less than a year, but that was a thought for another time. Preferably a time when she could cope with her thoughts and feelings with copious amounts of firewhisky.

Bringing her focus back to the noisy room full of people she hadn't seen in months, Hermione was nervous again. Once the overwhelming joy of seeing her again was tampered down, reality would strike. They would have to discuss _things_. They would have to hear what had happened to her, what she had done. They would have to be in the same room as Draco, and somehow get over their childhood rivalry and accept that he was a part of the Order.

A part of _her_.

"I'm so sorry, 'Mione. If I had only been there, if I hadn't left, then… I can't help but feel like this is all my fault."

"It's not your fault, Ron. I'm just glad you found your way back," she said, smiling at him.

Harry squeezed her hand.

Fred clapped her on the shoulder. "Good to have you back, Granger!"

"For a group of people who literally have the word _eaters_ in their name, they sure don't look like they've been feeding you," George said.

Molly smacked him with the tea towel.

He rubbed his head where the sting had landed. "Ow, mum! Only trying to lighten the mood!"

"Well don't!" she scolded. "Hermione, dear, have a biscuit," Molly said, setting a plate of biscuits on the table in front of them. "You do look far to thin."

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley."

"Looks like you've been here a while," Harry said, looking down at her nearly empty teacup and then at the other three cups on the table.

Hermione nodded. "About half an hour."

"What? You told us the meeting started at half past five?" Harry turned to Minerva and glared.

Remus is the one who answered, stepping toward the table and picking up one of the chocolate biscuits. "We had some things to discuss privately first."

The room fell silent. Hermione couldn't bear to look at anyone, so she focused on the biscuit she had grabbed to placate Molly, picking it to pieces rather than eating it.

Minerva cleared her throat and stepped forward to address the group. "Hermione has been filling Remus and me in on some of the… _details_ of the last several months. Unfortunately, they aren't pretty. Before we discuss anything further, I'm going to have to ask you all to make a Wizard's Promise.

"What? Why?" Ron asked. "Isn't being in the Order enough?"

"Not this time, Mr Weasley. It's imperative that what we are about to tell you all stays a secret, even within the Order. More than just Hermione's life depends on it.

There was a murmur that ran through the group, and Hermione watched as Harry eyed the empty cups on the table again. When he looked up at her she knew that he'd at least figured out part of it—someone was here with her.

He stood up and walked to Remus, sticking his hand out to grip the other man's. With a nod of his head, Remus began the oath, and it wasn't long before everyone in the room was making their way to do the same.

"How are you here now?" Ron asked her as Remus was finishing up with Arthur and Molly, the last ones left to make the promise.

"It's sort of a long story, but I'm… I've sort of been released. I'm not living at the manor any longer.

"That doesn't make sense," he said, shaking his head. "If they've let you go then why are we in this random safehouse, why aren't you coming to—"

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Hermione. "Ready?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm sorry," she said quietly to Harry before standing from her chair and pacing, trying to find the best place to start.

"I—as you know, Professor McGonagall… _Minerva_ , asked me to join the Order shortly after Professor Dumbledore died. I _hated_ lying to you, I want you to know that." Her voice was far from steady as she began to spill the truth she'd been holding from them for so long. "I was immediately given an assignment, working with another student. They taught me Occlumency, which ended up saving my life on more than one occasion. We worked together most nights the last few weeks of school and into the summer. The intention was that I would be a safe way to pass along information to the Order without them being seen constantly speaking with known Order members. Unfortunately, things didn't work out as planned."

"I need you all to remain calm, and know that _everyone_ in this house is, and has been, a member of the Order, alright? Longer than most of you have been, even," she said, pointedly looking at Ron and Harry.

"Bloody hell, Mione, just tell us!" Ron said, already impatient.

Hermione looked at Remus and nodded her head. "Ok, Remus," she said, moving toward where he stood and very casually placing her hand on her holster so that she could pull her wand out in a split second.

All eyes were on Remus as he walked down the small hallway off the kitchen. Hermione adjusted herself so that she was standing just in front of the hallway, her body angled so that she was in front of the entrance to the hallway and watching everyone seated at the table. It was easy to hear the old door creak open just out of sight down the hall in the dead silence of the kitchen.

Hermione's heart was beating rapidly as she turned her head and watched Remus walk back into the kitchen. Just a few seconds behind him, Draco stepped into the room.

Wands were immediately drawn and chairs knocked over as bodies jumped to stand, shouting and yelling at the unexpected guest.

Ron, closest to where they stood, had his wand was shoved to the forefront and aimed at Draco. Hermione reflexively shouted " _Expelliarmus!"_ , a quick and utterly unexpected move that had the wood flying from Ron's grasp and landing several feet away on the floor.

"What the fuck Hermione?" Ron shouted at her angrily, hastily bending to pick up the fallen wand.

"Just, stop, everyone stop!" Hermione tried to be heard over the yelling but was unsuccessful. Ron's wand was back in his hand, pointed first at Draco but then moving to be pointed at Hermione as well, quickly alternating between the two who had their wands drawn defensively against the rest of the Order members in the room.

Apparently, that threat pissed Draco off. He shoved himself in front of Hermione, his own wand now threateningly aimed at Ron. "Put that fucking thing down, Weasel, or I'll—"

"You'll what, Malfoy? You're outnumbered here!"

"That doesn't mean I couldn't—"

"ENOUGH!" The magnified voice of Minerva rang sharply around the room, causing everyone to pause momentarily, though no a single person lowered their wands.

"Mister Malfoy, lower your wand immediately!" she ordered, her voice back to its normal volume but as stern as ever. Minerva turned to face the rest of the hostile Order members. "That goes for the rest of you as well! Stand down!"

Fred and George both lowered their wands, standing down when ordered to do so. The adults hadn't drawn wands, though they all had their hands hovering over where their wands were holstered. Hermione had lowered her wand already and was trying to push Draco's arm down so that he was no longer physically blocking her from the rest of the room. He seemed determined to protect her, however.

She gave up and watched as Harry took in the scene before him. When his eyes met hers they held for a long moment before he reluctantly lowered his wand, though his posture remained defensive.

"Mister Malfoy! Mister Weasley!" Minerva demanded, clearly on her last nerve.

"You first, ferret," Ron spat. His face was red with anger and his wand was shaking as his body readied itself for a fight.

"Not a fucking chance, not while you're still aiming your wand at Hermione."

"I'm not aiming it at Hermione!"

Draco hadn't moved a muscle, still prepared to duel in a moments notice. "Then why are you still pointing it at her?"

Hermione was entirely fed up with their posturing and ridiculous rivalry. Rather than trying to shove it down again, she instead quickly ducked under Draco's outstretched arm, moving to stand directly between the two.

Draco immediately lowered his wand.

"Put it down, Ron," she said, exasperated.

He looked between them several times before huffing and finally lowering his wand. "Since when did you—" She saw the comprehension dawn on him, incredulity twisting his expression. "No, Hermione, _no_ , don't tell me you believe that wanker is on _our_ side?"

Before another outburst could occur, Remus stepped into the middle of the room, placing a steadying hand on Ron's shoulder. "Let's sit down and Hermione can explain everything."

"This is unbelievable," Ron muttered angrily as he allowed Remus to steer him back to the table.

Hermione was afraid to look at Harry as everyone moved to sit at down again. The only sounds in the room were that of scraping chairs and fabric rustling as everyone silently took their seats. Remus rearranged the chairs so that there were two at the end of the table closest to where they stood. Draco held the first out for Hermione before taking his own next to her.

Once everyone was seated, Minerva spoke up. "Everything Hermione has told you so far is true. I asked her to join the Order so that Mister Malfoy would be able to less suspiciously pass information along—"

"Because there's nothing suspicious about Malfoy and Hermione suddenly having a chat," Fred said under his breath, earning him a snack to the back of his head from Molly.

"So suspicious that not a single person noticed we spent nearly every evening together for weeks," Draco drawled with a roll of his eyes.

"As I was saying," Minerva continued, "Hermione's instructions were simple: work with Mister Malfoy, learn Occlumency, and tell no one. Because of the nature of the situation, it was imperative that no one found out about Mister Malfoy's connection to the Order." Minerva turned to Hermione and nodded once.

Hermione swallowed thickly as she looked at the faces around the table. Most looked curious and surprised. Ron looked furious and Harry… Harry looked somehow both betrayed and understanding. Draco subtly reached out and held her hand under the table, squeezing it in silent support.

"I guess I should start from the beginning again?"

"Yes, you'd better," Minerva agreed.

"Do they know about Rodolphus?"

Minerva looked briefly taken by surprise. It seemed as though she'd had the fortune of being able to forget that little tidbit. "No, no," she said quietly, shaking her head.

Hermione closed her eyes, gathering her strength. Going over the details of the last several months of her life just once was taxing, but she would have to do it twice today and all she really wanted was a drink. So many secrets and revelations were being brought to light today. Draco released her hand so she opened her eyes to watch him. As if he'd been able to read her mind, he reached into his robes, pulling out a flask and handing it to her.

Grateful, Hermione took a long drink of the now familiar firewhisky, desperately wishing she could pull courage from the bottle.

She screwed the cap back on but didn't give the flask back. When she looked up, everyone at in the room, save Draco, was giving her a variation of the same look; a mix of curiosity and judgement. Ignoring it, she swept her gaze across each person seated at the table.

"As I said before, Minerva asked me to join the Order as a liaison, if you will, just after the funeral. She swore me to secrecy before she told me anything, so I honestly know how you all feel right now. When she told me the spy I'd be working with was Draco, I think I laughed. I didn't believe her, that was for sure, but eventually, she convinced me, and I agreed to at least try. I had to learn Occlumency, and I had to do it quickly. It wasn't easy at first, we fought, I tried to quit, but after a while, we were able to… put aside our differences and put our work for the Order first."

Hermione bit her lip and looked around the table, gauging everyone's reactions. Most looked fairly neutral: Tonks and Sirius both looked like they already forgave her, and Ron still looked bloody pissed. She subconsciously scratched her forearm and continued talking, dreading the reactions to what she was about to disclose.

"When… One morning, I walked into our lesson expecting it to be the same as usual at that point. I was instead surprised to see Professor McGonagall waiting for me—" She couldn't find the words to explain such a life-changing moment. How did you tell anyone, let alone a room full of people, that your whole life had been a fabricated lie? _Just rip the plaster off, Hermione,_ she thought. "The short version is that Rodolphus Lestrange is my biological father, my mother died when I was born, I was hidden with obliviated muggles and Bellatrix was hoping to kill me," she said quickly, in one long breath.

"That's one way to do it," Draco whispered under his breath beside her.

"Rodolphus?" Sirius asked. "But not Bellatrix?"

" _Not_ Bellatrix. She still hates me," Hermione said with a shrug.

"Does that mean I should call you cousin, then?" Sirius said with a smirk.

"Hermione is fine, Sirius. Besides, it doesn't really count since it's by marriage."

He winked. "It all counts, Kitten."

Ron looked like she had been speaking another language the whole time. "But, why would they give you to muggles?"

"Rodolphus placed me with muggles so that Bellatrix wouldn't kill me."

"But why would—ow!"

Fred had elbowed Ron but it didn't seem to dissuade him from prodding. "So, you're a pureblood now then?"

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "She's always been a pureblood, you moron."

"No one asked you, Malfoy!"

"Yes, Ron. Not that it matters, really. Other than the fact it saved my life."

He still wasn't done. "How did it—"

"If you would just let me continue, you'll bloody find out!" she snapped, tired of his interruptions.

He looked like she'd slapped him, but sat back in his chair and stayed quiet.

"Anyway, that is the only truly important piece of information you need to know up until the graveyard. When I was captured they brought me back to Malfoy Manor, although I didn't know it at the time. I was in and out of consciousness at first; I'd lost a lot of blood. The Dark Lord was there, as well as several others I couldn't name. I was tortured for information and then thrown into a cell. I wasn't killed simply because Rodolphus asked me to be spared, and Finn went easy on the torture. They kept me in that cell for weeks—"

"Months," Draco interrupted. "They kept her there for months."

"Like you even cared," Ron sneered.

Hermione grabbed Draco's hand underneath the table, silently begging him to just let it go. This was already hard enough without the two of them breaking into fights every other sentence. Ignoring Ron, she continued.

"Draco and Finn kept me alive, healing me and bringing food and water. At one point, Bellatrix tried to kill me, and shortly after I was released from the cells. The weeks following my release I lived in the main portion of the manor under near-constant watch, though I don't think it was quite what the Dark Lord had intended. I spent the time continuing my occlumency studies, learning duelling techniques, and physically training. It was more or less house arrest and honestly could have been a lot worse."

"Who was watching you?" Kingsley asked.

"Finn."

He raised her eyebrows. "The same Finn who tortured you?"

"He didn't exactly have a choice," she shrugged.

Tonks cleared her throat. "And who is Finn?"

"Thorfinn Rowle," Draco answered.

"I went to school with him, big guy, smart, though he didn't like to let that on. Not bad on the eyes either, if I remember right," she said with a wink.

"Nymphadora!" Molly chastised, turning to glare at the witch.

"Anyway," Hermione said, choosing to ignore both of the women's statements. "That basically sums up the last few months for me, until…until the Ministry," she finished quietly, nervous.

"Why were you even there, 'Mione?" Ron asked in a contemptuous tone.

Hermione levelled him with as condescending a look as she could manage. "When the Dark Lord orders you to do something, Ronald, you do it. Unless you want to die, which I assure you, I do not."

"But why were you _fighting_? You didn't have to actually fight us."

"She was being watched, you buffoon. It was a bloody test. Besides, if she had just stood there, one of you lot would have killed her," Draco said, clearly as fed up with Ron's blaming questions as she was.

"Why don't you just explain what happened, Kitten," Sirius said, cutting Ron off from another sure to be accusatory question.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes briefly. This was it. Either they accepted what she'd done, what she'd had to do, or they didn't. And if they couldn't accept this, then there was no question whether or not they would be able to accept the rest of what she had done, and would have to do in the future.

"As Draco said, it was a test. Outsiders may not be able to tell individual Death Eaters apart when they are cloaked and masked, but _they_ can tell who is who. All eyes were on me. Everything I did that night was being watched, stored away for later reporting to the Dark Lord. Draco and I were separated and in my search for him, I saw Remus. And then I saw that man, about to kill Finn. I—I had to save him. Not only because I was being watched, but because he is my friend, and—"

Ron scoffed loudly. "So now your buddy-buddy with the ferret and _friends_ with scum Death Eaters? What the fuck, Hermione? Do you even hear yourself?"

"Don't you dare talk about things you don't understand, Ron! You don't know what it was like for me, alright? You don't know what it's like to be captured and _tortured_ and to realise that your only way to _survive_ is to play along, to infiltrate, and to _become_ one of them. To make them believe that you are on their side. To have days where you wish you had _died_ rather than have to play along. The only way for me to get out alive was to convince them that I was one of them. My only option if I wanted to live was to become a spy. It took _months_ of torture, and near death, and playing along, and coming to grips with who I have to be now, and training for something I never wanted, and living a life I never wanted, and people literally offering to _buy_ me just so they could have me as their slave-wife, and assault, and—"

Draco gently placed his hand on her forearm, silently bringing her back to the moment. She was breathing heavily and _angry_. How dare he try to blame her for this! She hadn't wanted any of this! And he was the one who had left, for fuck's sake! He was the one who ran away!

"I did what I had to do to survive. Did that involve killing a man? Unfortunately, yes. But it also involved saving one. And I won't be sorry for that."

Remus cleared his throat, bringing the attention of the room to him, and allowing Hermione a moment to collect herself. "Minerva and I have already discussed this particular incident with Hermione and Draco, and whatever happened, it kept her cover and we can't fault her for that. It was a test and she had no choice."

"You _always_ have a choice," Ron said under his breath but loud enough that everyone heard.

"So you would rather she had died instead then?" Draco spat, looking challengingly at Ron.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Death Eater ferret!"

Draco jumped to his feet, as did Ron. They were close enough already that the action put them nearly chest to chest, and there was enough adrenaline and aggravation lingering in the room that within seconds the two were gripping each other's robes, yelling and threatening bodily harm.

Hermione had jumped up almost as quickly as Draco had, and was already pushing both him and Ron apart, a hand on each man's chest as she tried to quell the fight. It was a testament to just how riled up and furious they were that neither had thought to draw their wands and had immediately gone to physically fighting.

"STOP IT!" she yelled, desperately trying to force the two apart.

In the blink of an eye, the situation changed. Hermione had her hands on each man's chest and Ron reached out trying to push her arm down in an attempt to better reach Draco. Ready for the attempt, Hermione's arm did not budge from where it was gripping the fabric of Ron's robes. His hand instead slid up her arm, bringing the sleeve of her shirt with it and exposing several inches of her forearm.

Ron recoiled almost immediately. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?" he yelled, disgusted and even angrier than before if that were possible.

Before she could pull away completely, Ron grabbed her arm and roughly yanked her sleeve up, revealing the Dark Mark now glaring against the skin there. Once the inky stain was fully on display, Ron dropped her arm as if burned. "You're one of _them_!" He gave her one last searing look of loathing before turning and storming out of the room. Within seconds the swoosh of the Floo could be heard, and then silence.

"George, Fred," Molly said in a hushed urgency. "Go and find him."

The twins didn't move for a moment, but when Molly snapped her fingers at them they quickly left the room, the Floo signalling their departure.

Horrified expressions met her around the room and she quickly pulled the sleeve of her shirt back down, covering the offending mark. Her stomach sank. This was not how she had wanted to tell them.

Very slowly, Sirius approached her, gently patting her shoulder. "Let's all just sit down," he said. "You'd better explain this, Kitten."

It took much less time than she would have thought, detailing what she was sure had been the death of her soul. Glossing over the initiation ceremony, Hermione quietly told the remaining Order members about the night she had been marked and what had led up to that. When she was finished, it was dead silent for several long moments. Finally, when Hermione was mentally preparing herself to just get up and leave, Sirius spoke up.

"I wouldn't claim to have an in-depth knowledge of Death Eater customs, but I was under the impression that newly marked members had to spend the first bit of their time living at the manor?"

Hermione was grateful when Draco answered for her because she actually wasn't sure if that was true or not.

"No, you're right. Most who are marked are given a room in the manor so that they can be constantly watched, trained, and tested. However, due to certain… circumstances, Hermione was allowed to skip that."

"So where are you living now?" Molly asked.

"And what circumstances?" Remus added.

"We are staying at Finn's for now, but I'm not sure what will be allowed…" she paused, looking at Draco before finishing her sentence. "Later."

Harry's brow rose and he spoke up for the first time since Draco had come out. "What do you mean, _'later'_? What was that look for?"

"The Dark Lord is planning on using me to further his following," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "His idea is that by making one of _Harry Potter's_ friends a public figure in his regime that he will be able to influence more people in his way of thinking. He has this whole elaborate plan. But in order to stay safe and not accept any contracts earlier than planned, it was easiest for me to just get out of the manor."

Minerva stepped forward, looking worried. "What is this plan of his? Exactly how is he going to use you to gain further influence?"

"And what did you mean by contracts?" Sirius asked, suspiciously.

"The only kind of contracts that are presented to a woman," Draco said with disdain.

"Marriage," Sirius said flatly.

"You have to get married?" Harry asked. "But that's ridiculous!"

Hermione shrugged. "Not my first choice of life path."

"But to who? When?"

Hermione bit her lip, suddenly glad that Ron was not here for this part.

Draco seemed to sense her hesitancy. "It's not entirely worked out yet, the Dark Lord is still working through plans," he said.

"It's you," Remus said quietly from where he stood near the counter.

Hermione looked up at him and was met with an expression mixing sympathy, confusion, and understanding.

"They can't force you to get married! You're children!" Molly huffed.

The room was suddenly filled with everyone's voices, all saying something or another about the situation. Molly was adamant that she was far too young, Harry was trying to suggest that she just run away and go into hiding with the Order, Tonks said something along the lines of _at least it isn't Dolohov,_ and the rest was too hard to make out. Remus continued to look at her and Draco with that same expression and it was making her more nervous than all the chatter and speculation going on around them.

"Look, obviously it's not ideal," Hermione finally said, growing tired.

"Not ideal? Not ideal?! Harry asked, obviously angry.

"Better than marrying the man who tries to rape her and wants to possess her like property," Draco spat.

"What?" Harry turned to Draco, pale and shocked.

Hermione smacked Draco's arm, wishing he hadn't brought that up.

"What?" he asked with a shrug. "It's true."

"Someone tried to, to rape you?" Harry said quietly, his focus entirely on Hermione as if there was no one else in the room.

"I—Harry," she stopped, closing her eyes. She shook her head slightly, almost in defeat, and sighed. "A lot has happened, Harry."

"What kind of marriage, Kitten," Sirius asked grimly.

She turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. He repeated himself, his voice low and menacing, though she knew it wasn't meant to be directed at her. "What kind of marriage." He enunciated each word slowly.

Hermione shook her head. "What do you—"

Draco cut her off, his voice flat and resigned. "He'll insist on an Old Magic bonding ceremony."

Sirius growled and turned on his heel. He walked a few steps and then suddenly kicked a small side table, sending it flying into the hallway.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, clearly as confused as Hermione. "What is that?"

"It means it's permanent, Potter. Our magic will be permanently bound together. It's not a marriage that can be rescinded at a later date," Draco said quietly.

"It's an Old Magic contracted bond that requires consummation at least once every six months. Until one of them dies," Sirius spat, seething in his anger. "She will never be able to—She won't fucking be able to leave. She will be bound to him forever. She won't be able to move on when the war is over, she won't be able to marry someone she actually loves, she won't be able to do any of that, because she will be tied to him, she will have to come back and fuck him every six months unless she wants to fucking die." He kicked the overturned side table again, breathing heavily.

Minerva and Molly were both looking shocked and scandalized, Harry looked sick, and everyone else was either gaping at Hermione or watching Sirius, waiting for his next move. Voices began to rise in the room as everyone started to state their opinions, argue the facts, and discuss _options._

Hermione glanced at Draco and raised an eyebrow. She hadn't known any of that, but honestly, she wasn't that surprised by it either. She was viewed as not much more than property in the eyes of the men who controlled her life now, and having a clause to keep her faithful and chained to a marriage was exactly the kind of thing she'd come to expect from the old pureblood families.

Draco shrugged apologetically. "I've been working on the wording of the contract to counteract as much of it as I can," he said quietly.

"I trust you," she whispered back, squeezing his hand. And she did.

Hermione cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the still chattering room around them. "It's not my choice to get married, now or ever. I did, however, get to pick who I married, and while I understand your reluctance and fear, this isn't up for discussion and it really isn't the worst thing ever. Draco and I," she paused, biting her lip and then shrugging. "We've been dating for some time now. And not because of anything either of us has been forced to do. Honestly, it sort of started while we were still at Hogwarts. So, yeah, things could be better. But they could be a lot worse. We came here today to explain what has been happening, and to figure out how to use this crap situation to our advantage. To the Order's advantage. So if we could focus on that…"

"But darling, I don't think you understand," Molly started to argue.

"No," she said firmly. "I don't think _you_ understand. This is my life now. This is it. And I can either let it drown me, or I can use it to my advantage. And frankly, I'm done drowning. I understand if it's too much for you to handle, any of you, and if it is, you can leave. You have a choice. I, however, do not. So this is what I am doing with the situation I have been given."

Molly looked taken aback, Minerva looked sad, and Sirius looked proud. Hermione wanted to know what Harry was thinking, but she didn't want to ask him in front of everyone, and before she could do anything else, Remus cleared his throat, drawing the attention to him.

"Hermione is right. There isn't much we can do about the situation she is in, but what we can do is use it to our advantage. Between Hermione, Draco, and this Finn assuming he can be trusted?"

Hermione and Draco both nodded without hesitation.

"Between the three of them, we seem to have a pretty good set of eyes and ears within Voldemort's camp." Hermione and Draco cringed at the use of the name but no one seemed to notice. "Why don't we call it a night here, Minerva and I can get some final details from Hermione and Draco, and then we can start to make a plan."

Everyone seemed to accept Remus' decision and began to rise from the table. They one by one came to Hermione to say their goodbyes. Kingsley, who had been mostly silent during the meeting, quietly said, "Good to know you're safe, Miss Granger."

Molly and Arthur both hugged her extra tightly and expressed their condolences. When it was finally just Harry left, Draco cleared his throat. "I'm going to start filling them in on what I can." He walked over to where Minerva and Remus stood, and they began quietly discussing plans and tactics.

Hermione smiled sadly at Harry, who still sat at the table. "Can we talk?"

He nodded and stood from the chair, turning to walk into the living room. Hermione followed him, nervous and nauseous.

He was sat on an old greying couch near the fire. Hermione sat next to him silently, not sure how this conversation was going to go. They were quiet for several long moments. Hermione could faintly make out the conversation going on in the kitchen, but both her heartbeat and her breathing were the main things she could hear. When Harry finally spoke she was relieved.

"Are you ok?" he asked quietly.

"I'm alright, Harry."

"I—I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said, looking up and meeting her eye. "This is my fault, you should have never been taken, it should have been me."

"Harry James Potter, don't you dare say that! It is not your fault, and if it had been you, you'd be dead now." She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it.

That seemed to be all he needed. One minute they were sitting as far apart as two people could be whilst still on the same piece of furniture, and the next she was being squeezed tightly against him in a hug that had so many meanings.

"I thought I lost you," he said sadly.

Hermione felt a tear run down her cheek. "I thought the same thing."

"So you and Malfoy?"

She laughed and pulled away a little until he loosened his grip. Harry slid his arms from around her neck down her arms to grasp her hands tightly within his own. In answer to his question, she shrugged and smiled. "Guess so."

"Is he… is he good to you?" Harry asked seriously.

Hermione smiled softly and squeezed his hands. "Yes. He's… I don't think I would have made it out of those cells without him, Harry. And I don't just mean physically. He's kept me going through all of this. He and Finn are the reason I still have my sanity, and honestly? A will to live. It's been… It's been really tough, Harry."

"I'm not comparing it _at all_ , but it hasn't been too great without you, either. I mean, obviously, nothing like what you've been through, but damn, Hermione. You really make things work around here. We're like a bunch of chickens with our heads cut off without you."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "I'm sure you'll manage," she said.

"I need you, Hermione. I need you to get through this and come back to me."

"I will, Harry, but—I don't know if you'll want me when this is all said and done. It's—the things I've had to do… the things I _will_ have to do…"

"It's alright, Hermione. Whatever it is, it's alright. I know you have to, and I won't blame you for any of it, alright?"

"I've missed you, Harry."

He pulled her into another tight hug then, running his hand down her hair and back, and she felt a deep ache inside of her. This was her best friend, her brother, and she couldn't be with him. And now she couldn't really help him. And she hated it.

When they pulled apart again, Harry hesitantly looked at her, still holding onto her arms. "Can I… Can I see it?" he asked.

Biting her lip, she took a moment to respond. She hadn't expected anyone to want to _look_ at it. Hell, she had hardly spent any time looking at it. Slowly she nodded her head, and drew up the sleeve on her arm, putting the Mark on display.

Harry winced and curled his lips. "It's really pretty ugly, isn't it?"

Hermione laughed, "Thanks, Harry."

"Well, it's not like you chose the design or anything!" he said, also laughing. "No, I just mean, as far as logos go, it's really not that good of one."

"Of all the things that are wrong with this Mark, of _course_ you would choose the fact that it's ugly," she said, laughing again and pulling the sleeve back down.

"So we're ok?" Harry asked after another moment.

"We always were, Harry."

"And you're sure you won't just go into hiding with me? We could—"

"I can't, Harry, you know I can't. I'm more use here anyway now. I think… I think we will be able to get a lot of crucial information between the three of us, to pass on to the Order."

"Yeah, you're right, of course you are. Doesn't mean I like it though."

"Harry, Narcissa Malfoy is planning my _wedding_. Trust me, I don't like it either," she said with a sarcastic chuckle.

Harry grimaced. "So, I guess that means I don't get to be your best man then?"

Hermione's smile quickly faded, and she deflated quite a bit. She hadn't really thought that far. "No, I suppose that wouldn't be the wisest decision."

"Fucking war," Harry hissed.

"Fucking war," she agreed.

Harry's head snapped up, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yeah, picked up some fun new words from Finn."

"You cussed!" he said, shocked.

"Very observant, Potter," Draco said dryly from the doorway.

"Hermione said 'fuck'," Harry said again, this time looking at Draco.

"Did you Confund him?" Draco asked, crossing his arms. "Not that it wouldn't be hilarious if you did, but I rather think the Order would like him to keep what little brains he already possesses."

"Be nice, Draco."

"I don't think I will get used to you being on a first name basis with Malfoy," Harry said, ignoring Draco and standing from the couch, offering her a hand up. "And I know I won't get used to you cussing."

She took the hand, shrugging in answer once she was standing. "Do we need to go back in there, or…?"

"No, I told them everything we know at this point, and we've set up a couple things to make communication easier. We can go home now if you're ready."

"Home," Harry repeated quietly.

Hermione looked at him sadly. "I don't suppose we will be able to see each other very often, even now."

"No, they have me moving to different safe houses often, and randomly. Most of them aren't even connected to the Floo. This was a special occasion," Harry said with a sigh.

Nodding, Hermione took the few steps separating her and Harry and wrapped her arms tightly around him again. He held her close for several long moments.

"It will be ok, Hermione, I promise."

"You can't promise that, Harry."

"I'm promising anyway," he said firmly before pulling away and cupping her cheeks. He placed a firm kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a moment. Hermione felt a tear run down her cheek as he did so.

When he released her, he unexpectedly turned and walked toward Draco, who raised his eyebrows. Harry stuck out his hand, holding it in the space between them. Draco eyed it for a moment before grasping it.

"Take care of her, Malfoy. Protect her."

Draco looked as surprised as Hermione felt, but he answered without hesitation. "With my life."

Harry turned to Hermione again and smiled. "I will see you again, as soon as I can, alright? I love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, Harry," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion.

Harry nodded at Draco and turned to the kitchen. Much to her surprise, Draco stopped him.

"Potter," he said, taking steps toward Harry.

Harry faced Draco and raised his eyebrows.

Draco closed the distance between them and held out his hand. giving Harry something she couldn't see. She had no idea what it was. Harry looked down at a tiny slip of parchment he now held and then back up to Draco, confused.

"Give it to the owl," Draco said. "Not your bloody white one, use a different, less recognisable one. But give that to the owl, and it'll be able to find us."

Harry stared at him a moment before nodding again. "Thank you, Malfoy," he said, giving one last smile to Hermione before heading into the kitchen.

"Ready?" Draco asked softly turning to her.

She simply nodded. That had been even more emotional than she had expected, but not as bad as she had feared. They didn't hate her. Or, at least most of them didn't. And they weren't shunning her or rejecting her, or any of the other terrible things her mind had conjured up. They were accepting things as they were, and they were going to use her position to their advantage, just as she'd hoped they would. She was going to be able to help the Order, even from across the line.

Things were going to be ok.


End file.
